


Sisterhood: The Dibellan Cult of Skyrim

by MrHall



Series: The Dibellan Heart [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adult Content, Blood and Violence, Character Growth, Character Study, Civil War, Cult of Dibella, Daedric Princes (Elder Scrolls), Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Magic, Multi, Non-Dragonborn Characters, Occassional smut, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Travel, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrHall/pseuds/MrHall
Summary: A Sister of Dibella enters the city of Whiterun, her hair the color of flame, with her trusted Orc companion. Across the land from the mountainous peak of Solitude, to the valleys of the Rift, Skyrim is embroiled in civil war. In Markarth, a sinister foe looms over the City of Stone, as lustful as it is murderous. In the forests of Falkreath, assassins take arms against a wandering trio, eager to rebuild the fear of their group's name. In this land, a princess is on the run; priestesses surround a young girl for a long-awaited ritual; and Daedric forces pull their strings of chaos. The roads these traveling Sisters take are long and arduous, wrought with danger and secrets waiting to be unleashed. Dibella, guide these women; see them safe into your loving embrace.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Nord Character(s)/Original Male Orsimer Character(s) (Elder Scrolls), Sister of Dibella/Skyrim
Series: The Dibellan Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722418
Kudos: 9





	1. The Holy Harlot Comes to Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeepBlueFrog](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DeepBlueFrog).



> Hello, thank you for checking out my story. If anyone's here for just a steamy smut scene, I've sectioned them off in every chapter so you can skip straight to them, though not every chapter will have some, and some definitely will not have any.
> 
> This story may also be incredibly triggering for some, especially early on. The goal is to have the characters grow despite the story rather than the other way around.
> 
> Any feedback is very much welcomed! Thank you for your time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessandria Arruleius, a Mare for The Bannered Mare in Whiterun capital, meets Sirina, a Sister of Dibella, and her Orc companion, Garmag. Fearing for her livelihood, she tells them both to bugger off, much to the annoyance of Sirina. As if she didn't have other things to worry about, a fearsome group of Redguard warriors also arrive in Whiterun in search of a Redguard woman on the run. When their target is found to have mysteriously vanished before their arrival, the Redguard turn to Alessandria for answers.

The High King is dead. The Province is divided.

An Imperial woman lies naked and afraid, blood pouring on her from a hole in a man’s neck. She stares wide-eyed at the thatch roof, gasping for a cry that wouldn’t come out.

Candles beamed warmly within the tavern, and the hearth crackled with life. In a tavern in Whiterun Hold, The Bannered Mare, peace was almost certain. Soldiers drank on both sides, grief within the ranks of all. Families feast, drank, sung, and forgot their worries and their losses. Whiterun took no side in the war, and neither did The Mare. Plates clattered, chairs scraped against the wood floor, tales were told -- some true, others less than so, with a few sloppily spun between gulps of mead.

Outside The Bannered Mare, outside of Whiterun city, the same couldn’t be said.

Camps and tents stretched out over the plains outside Whiterun, a destitute village full of muddied refugees huddled around the city for warmth and safety. Their shuffling shades could be seen from atop the lofty peaks of Dragonreach among the clouds. The city denizens wondered if the Jarl could see them all, see the shambling corpses walking around outside the city's walls, see the province burning from the great cities along the sea. None knew exactly how many people were camped outside of the capital, but the sworn defenders of the city stood vigilant against any danger to Whiterun and her people. Guards ran checkpoints at the city gates, screening those entering the city, and teams would occasionally patrol through the shabby huts and throngs and filth, keeping a fragile peace between the twig tents and dim fires that littered the plains. 

In the middle of the city, in the middle Plains District, stood The Bannered Mare, arguably the province's most popular tavern.

The room was simple, pleasant. The furniture wasn't extravagant, but sturdy, reliable. A few pieces around the room were years old. Too some, there was more money in that room than they'd see in a year. Incense lingered in the air, the ashy remains in a bowl embossed with silver designs. She woke up underneath a blanket of fur and rubbed her eyes gently to the creeping sun. She sat up on the stuffed mattress and stretched out her arms away then over herself and stood up on her carefully kept bare feet. A basin of water by the door allowed her to wash her face, behind her neck, beneath her arms, and between her legs. The towel she used to dry herself was soft, clean, and she sat in front of a large mirror, plucking her eyebrows and doing her hair before taking a large drink from a small ceramic jar. The taste was still sordid and she doubted she’d get used to it. She put on a soft blue dress the color of the sky and laced it up at the front. She tied its band around her stomach and made a bow at her back, then went out the door.

She sat in the kitchen among a few of the other women and poured soup for herself from a pot on the table. The women smiled at her; the men prepping and cooking on the countertops gave her morning greetings; they all talked briefly about their nights and their morning. The innkeeper walked in, stern as ever, and they quickly worked at devouring their meals. The women lined up next to each other, four total, and undid their gowns, gently laying them on the table. The innkeeper, Hulda, inspected them all individually; she felt their breasts for lumps or sores or bruises; she checked their wrists, upper arms, necks, asses, and thighs for damage; she smelled their hair; she inspected their vaginas.

All the men and women had to be checked and marked clean before they started their days. Hulda wouldn’t have any exceptions. The quality of service offered at The Bannered Mare was second to none. Anyone could mount the town harlot if they were persistent or wealthy enough, or even go to another inn in search of a night’s company, but so long as Hulda ran The Mare, the whores would be without equal in the Province.

“Does this cut hurt?” she asked one of the women, gently pulling at her lip.

The girl winced. “Somewhat, Mum.”

The innkeep nodded. “Keep it clean and take it easy with the mouth.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Just a few months ago, she had let go of a Nord for letting his cock go rotten. It started with complaints about the smell and sour taste. Eventually, it started looking the part too. Trips to the Temple of Kynareth were unsuccessful at ridding him of the disease that took hold. The priestess said it was too far along for her, even with magic. Hulda cut him off immediately after getting word. 

When she was done analyzing her young Imperial, she slapped the woman’s round ass and said, “How many men are you going to bring in today, eh, Alessandria?”

She tried to keep a neutral face and responded, “I’ll need my basin changed by the hour, Mum. Even the elixir won’t be of use.” The other women rolled their eyes.

Hulda laughed. “Gods, it’s easy when you’re young and spry. Look at the lot of you. Fine women.”

The women put their gowns back on.

“Saadia,” called Hulda and the Redguard woman perked up. “The khajeet should be stopping by the city today. Take this list and buy what you can. If they don’t have mugs, see what they have and buy the listed amount if you deem them worth the price. They’ll offer to let you try the moon sugar to prove its real. Don’t. I’ll know if you do. The wine is more of a ‘want’ that I don’t expect they’ll have, but if by chance they do, buy a case. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mum,” she replied. Saadia stood in place and looked over the relatively short list for a while.

Hulda crossed her arms. “Is that a scowl I see forming?”

“No, Mum!” Saadia cried. “Not at all. I just still think of what those squatters did to Jenet last month. The preistess continues to send hopeful news, but... If I could get one of the men to accompany me outside the city, it’d ease my worry.”

The old inkeep sighed and thought for a moment. She shook her head and called out to the dark-haired chef roasting chicken over a fire, a Nord named Criek. “Go with her. See that she’s safe. Hemik here will cover the cooking while you’re away.”

“Of course, Mum.” The two marched out of the inn together and Hemik took charge of the kitchen.

She glared at Alessandria, the threads of her mind. “You’re not scared of the louse out there, are you?”

She straightened up when spoken to. “No, Mum.” Truth was, she had been. Despite the guards’ best efforts, the unseemly would creep in every now and then. The Mare was lucky Jenet was their worst case. Other parts of the city fared worse.

“Good, because you’re taking Criek’s spot and accompanying the other men on the market run.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Alessandria and two men, a Nord named Skaold and another named Wultrom, ventured out of the inn into the Plains District with a large cart behind them, pushing it through the troves of people that had come out of their huts and homes. The creaking of its wheels grew louder as they went about their errands, and as they gathered water from the old well at the center of the market into earthenware jugs and placed them into the rickety basket, they drew the eyes of vendors and patrons alike when they would pass by. Full crates of vegetables, fruits, and grains were stacked atop each other within the cart, gently arranged by the Nords as Alessa spoke with the produce vendor, Carlotta Valentia. As they talked, Carlotta's young child played with a straw doll on the floor behind her.

“What do you miss most about Cyrodill?” asked the young merchant mother. Though other Cyrodill natives resided in the city, talking about the homeland with Alessa was different, more nostalgic. 

Alessandria stood in thought, rubbing her chin or stroking her hair while Carlotta looked at her, eventually frowning slightly. “I suppose I miss the weather,” she finally said. Carlotta smiled before giggling loudly.

“Ain’t that the truth! ‘Nip is in the air,’” she quoted quietly in an attempt at a Nord accent. “’Can’t be good for my crops!’ Soil hard as stone, water bordering ice. It’s a wonder anything grows out here at all.” They laughed together and looked over at the two Nords by the cart. Alessandria returned the question, and now Carlotta took a moment to ponder.

“Certainly not the damned goblins,” she said. “Worst I’ve seen out here are wolves.” Alessandria chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Truthfully,” Carlotta continued, “I miss my old home in Anvil. My daughter’s never seen Cyrodill, but I hope to take her there when she’s older. The Nords there would make it feel a bit like here, I’m sure, but between you and me, I might just move further in just to have a break from all the snow and ice." She smirked and held her shoulders close, bringing in the thin, patchy cloak around her shoulders. "Did you ever make way to Anvil?”

“Oh, no, I lived within the City mostly. Rare was it when I ventured out from its walls. Like you said, I did without all the goblins and monsters roaming the hills even a century after the Crisis. Despite Skyrim supposedly having the worst of it, all you might see is an odd Oblivion gate, crumbling and overgrown with moss and snow. Thank the Eight.”

Carlotta nodded. “Preach it.”

The trio made their way around the marketplace, passing stalls selling jewelry and arms, armor and silken dresses and shirts, magic potions that cure disease and give life, décor and rubbish, animals dead and alive. Among the crowds, it was easy to forget that the land was cold enough to freeze the soil. Children ran behind the group swinging sticks at each other and the furry cows mooed at passerbys. 

Wultrom called Alessandria to walk beside him as he pushed the cart. Since the incident, he thought it best to have her close by. “Have you talked to Ingred yet?”

Alessandria chuckled when she remembered the favor he asked of her. “Yes,” she told him. “She said you’d have to ask her yourself to find out her answer.” She walked ahead and laughed, but Wultrom kept pace despite the cart’s weight. The boxes and jars jingled and tapped against each other.

“I love her, Alessa. You see it, don’t you? I want her to be mine, to the end.”

Skaold called out from behind, “Everyone sees that, you fool. You know she does too!”

“I’ll tell you this much, Wultrom,” Alessandria started, “she likes you. Her feelings for you are true and will continue to be true even if she’s sucking a Breton’s cock for a septim.” He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Don’t blow it, Wultrom. She’s had enough of your fits about the matter.”

Wultrom stopped talking and pushed the cart forward.

The smell of bloodied meat was unmistakable, a sign that they made their next stop at Anoriath’s stall. Here animals of various size were strung up, skinned, drained of blood until they could be carved and pieced out between a couple dozen people. The Bosmer was cutting into a plump elk when he became aware of potential customers. He dipped his hands in a bucket of water already red with blood and entrails before wiping his hands on his apron.

“What’ll it be?” As Skaold and Wultrom dealt with the hunter, Alessandria stayed by the cart staring at the drying hide of a fox hanging off a meat pole. Flies buzzed around the fur matted with blood. She could see where the arrow pierced through its loose skin. The sharp ichorous smell made her teeth curl, and she shivered in the cold Skyrim air the Nords spent eons accustoming themselves to.

Looking around the marketplace, amongst the many faces of Nords, Imperials, Redguard, and Breton, of the tall and short, of the elegantly and shabbily clad, her eyes fell a woman wearing tall laced boots, a green short dress and a tanned hide corset that propped up her breasts and a brown line cloak. Adorned around her head and neck was a long, red hooded scarf with a golden trim that hid most of her face and stitched upon the scarf were flowers. She swayed with the grace of the mid-morning breeze in her stride.

Unmistakably a Sister of Dibella.

Alessandria sucked in air and thought of what to do. “Skaold, Wultrom,” she called. The two turned after paying the Bosmer. Under hushed breath, she finished: “There’s a Sister in Whiterun.” She turned to point at the hooded woman passing.

Shadowing her closely, rising above many that he passed, stood a large and heavy brute, clad in iron armor pocked with dents and scratches. Over his armor, he wore a simple tunic fastened closed around his waist, a pair of long black iron boots, and a canvas bag over his head. Despite this, he seemed to follow her closely and accurately, slicing through the waves of puny Nords and Bretons without resistance. Despite his masked identity, the sheer size of him made it unmistakable. His gait was imposing, deliberately alarming. The man was an Orc -- a rather large one at that.

Alessa had seen several Orcs in Cyrodill, many within the Imperial Legion or apart of the Fighter's Guild. Their staggering size was enough for her to steer clear out of their way when she was younger, and this one reminded her of those exact feelings years later. _Where in Oblivion did she find that creature?_

The pair had wandered from stall to stall, the woman admiring all the fine wares offered by the merchants and giving them praise for displaying such lovely items for sale and she knelt down to kiss the cheeks of frolicking little boys and girls and eventually disappeared deeper into the city, taking much of the market patrons with her in her wake. Alessandria grimaced with the Nord men and she spit.

Once they were finished, having picked up several bags of grains and cartons of poultry and venison and the odd barrel of milk alongside a box of freshly ground spices, the cart struggled to move under its load. Alessandria carried as much she could to alleviate the burden on the creaking wagon, but it seemed to move even less despite her attempts. Wultrom pushed the cart from behind as Skaold pulled it, the two men straining to keep the cart moving. The mid-morning sun laughed at them from atop its cloudless dwelling and jeered even more when, at last, the spoke of one of the wheels finally splintered. One side of the cart tipped into the pavement, breaking the second wheel and bringing the cart to the floor in a remarkable crash. Many of the earthenware potteries they had in the cart shattered and a few sacks of grain tore open as several crates tipped, spilling their contents onto the floor. Onlookers and passerbys made sure to step around their mess.

Alessandria groaned and the three bickered as they hurriedly picked up what they could to put back into their containers. What they couldn’t salvage they left to rot for the vermin and the homeless to fight over as carrion.

They looked up to see the Sister and Orc watching their struggle.

“Was there an accident?” asked the woman.

“Aye, but we’ll manage,” Skaold replied.

“Perhaps my companion and I can be of assistance to you three.” She turned to her Orc and gently laid a hand on its chest. In an ever so sweet voice, she asked, “Garmag, my love, would you help them carry that heavy cart for me?”

Alessandria began to object but the Orc marched behind the cart and gripped its fallen sides. With a single breath, he picked up the back end in his large hands. Skaold and Wultrom, after snapping out of their long gaze at the Orc, each quickly grabbed a wooden handle in the front and lifted with all their combined might and lead the cart back to The Bannered Mare.

“Don’t worry about him,” said the Sister. “He won’t break a sweat.” She let down her hooded scarf, revealing her fiery hair. “My name’s Sirina.”

“I know who you are,” Alessandria hissed, “or what you are, rather. A Dibellan priestess.”

Sirina smiled weakly. “I see word spreads fast around the Province about our teachings. Lady Dibella has much to offer the world: beauty, passion, love, fertility even. Perhaps that’d be of interest to you in these trying times full of strife and misery. Have you thought of seeking Dibella’s Blessing?”

Alessa folded her arms under her breasts in a huff. In her short time in Whiterun, Alessa had met a few other priestesses of Dibella. The first, a sullen-eyed Breton, stayed at an inn in the Cloud District, among the established and wealthy. Despite the higher price of the room and board, The Bannered Mare faced a slow week. The second Sister, a bubbly Redguard with a savvy prediliction for the lute, stayed for just as long, but attracted so much visitors from outside the city that the gates were closed to incomers for several days, even after she had left. They each spoke in the same manner, speaking of their "craft" in a morally and practically superior light when in Alessandria's eyes, they did the same thing. The only difference to her was that she depended on the money that the Sisters lured away with each visit. "As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Though I guarantee the people of Whiterun get plenty of Blessings from me and the others. There’s no need for ‘the Lady’ or her agents here.”

“Ah, I believe I understand,” said the Sister. “You’re a –”

“Whore. A Mare. A livelihood that depends on her knees and back, and most of all, the people to pay her for it.”

Sirina gave off an assuring grin. “You won’t find any judgements from me, I assure you. It’s an honest night’s work.”

Alessandria scoffed. “Right, yes, but it depends on payments. You need to leave so that my friends and I can sustain our work.”

Now Sirina gave a laugh. “We’ve traveled days to reach the city. I haven’t even started what I set out to do here. Sorry, but we’re staying until our jobs here are done.”

Alessandria noticed the long dull scars running across the girl’s left cheek as she spoke. One of them, longer than the other two, dragged its way over her nose, while the lowest one was carved through the corner of her mouth. It flexed as she spoke. “Listen, I can’t make you leave the city, but as long as you’re here, people are going to want to try out the free Holy Harlot that we all depend on.” Sirina stayed silent, but her grin was still faintly present. “Don’t take our business.”

Sirina looked over the girl as she walked away and nodded her head slowly. She felt a tug at the bottom of her dress and looked down to see a small boy vying for her attention. He held up a dragon's tongue, its petals vividly golden, by its long stem. Her smile struggled to direct itself either towards the flower or to the boy's beaming expression. 

On her way back to the inn, Sirina passed by Garmag, who was walking back to Sirina. She stepped far out of his way. Despite the canvas bag draped over his whole head, she was wary to stare at his image, wondering if the bag was thin enough to see through. Upon his passing, the cobblestone crunched and ground under the heavy boots he stepped with. When he was sufficiently away, Alessandria realized she could've been breathing the entire time.

Hulda was already being briefed on the newcomers by Wultrom and Skaold by the time Alessandria arrived.

“There’s more of us than them, right? So long as that Dibellan horse doesn’t stay too long, we won’t be affected.” The innkeep twiddled her fingers on the wooden countertop in thought. “Okay,” she finally said. “First things first: Skaold, chop up the rest of that cart and toss it in the wood pile. When you’re done, go to the market and get me another before it gets any later. If you deal with Sulig, tell him to put it on tab but if it’s Keldvir, tell him he’ll get the usual deal.” Skaold accepted his job and left. When she noticed Alessandria had arrived, she said, “Alessa, get to work on the tables. Don’t forget to get someone to cover you if you need to go to the rooms this time.”

“Yes, Mum.” She went into the kitchen, put on an apron, and went out taking orders.

That night the inn’s hearth, which was only dwarfed in the city by the Jarl’s great hearth in Dragonskeep, was surrounded by the members of Clan Battle-born, their shadows emblazoned on the walls of the inn. Great Old Olfrid, clad in his traditional Nordic armor, held a flagon of ale in one hand up high above his head as his other held the hand of his wife next to him, who held a cup to the heavens herself. Together, they lead a chant that was joined by their sons and daughters and even by their grandchildren though they only held up legs of roasted hen nearly picked to the bone in their greasy hands.

Outside of the hearth’s perimeter were various tables and chairs and stools, all occupied. At one of the larger tables away on the further side of the room sat the Clan Grey-Mane. They, too, had gathered (some would say to spite of the Battle-born) and shared rounds of mead and ale and roasted venison. Similarly, they had begun to sing and started The Tale of King Olaf the One-Eye. Eorlund Grey-Mane sat with pride with his clan, as stoic as ever. The two families then sang opposing songs, one singing of the glories of Ulfric Stormcloak while the other sang of his dishonor. Despite the brewing tensions and animosity, no notable events happened that evening between the clans, not that anything tended to happen.

* * *

**~oXo~**

However, charged looks would be exchanged between one member from each clan. Jon, of Clan Battle-born, met with glances and the occasional smile from Olfina Grey-Mane as he played his lute kindly. The more she looked at him the more he slowed his playing until the notes themselves were long and sustained, tranquil in the rowdy inn.

After some time where both families had drunk and ate and grew sluggish, the two slipped away into an empty house down the way of the inn, where a singular bed occupied the dingy abode.

Once the door was closed behind them, she jumped on him.

He gently caressed her silver hair and kissed her lips, the lips he thought of each day. She cupped Jon’s face in her hands and pulled him close. They kissed and kissed, fighting each other with their tongues, lavishing each other with their desire. She took his hand and put it over her breast, and he squeezed it eagerly. She undid the lace of her dress and pulled the strap over her head, freeing her large breasts for him. He took one in his mouth and delicately but firmly wrapped his hand around her neck and she sighed, lifting her head for him. It had been far too long since she felt his touch, his hands all over her, the warmth he radiated.

Jon undid his trousers, revealing his cock hanging erect and wanting. Without wait, Olfina grasped it in her hand and jerked him back and forth, making him moan into her breast, until she felt him begin to leak. He let her go and she knelt and swallowed his cock whole, making his gasp.. He groaned and pulled at her hair as she lapped at him with her tongue and lips, working his cock with her hands. With a loud, wet smack, she pulled his twitching cock out of her mouth and they smiled at each other. She loved how hard he'd get whenever she sucked him off.

Jon gently lifted her by the hand, and though she wanted to please him more, she followed his lead as he led her to the lonely straw bed in the middle of the room. A simple wooden frame, a pile of unkempt straw on top of it. Jon went into a lonely chest that sat nearby and pulled out an old fur blanket that he had brought and stored several encounters before, and spread the fur over the bedding before laying her down. He kissed her forehead, her lovely nose, her soft lips and neck where he lingered. He kissed and nipped at the skin of her neck, sending chills down her arms and back. Her smell was too intoxicating for him to leave that little nook of hers. Olfina hiked up her dress, showing off her smooth, slick cunt, snapping his attention.

Slowly licking and kissing down the inside of her thighs, he made his way closer and closer to Olfina, to her trembling crotch and cunt and when he finally arrived, he slowly kissed each side of its lips. Olfina gasped and reached for his head with a hand. Then Jon carefully put the flat of his tongue low on her cunt and lightly licked higher and higher up the crease in her lips, causing her to shiver and moan. He enjoyed how wet she was already, her taste, her texture. He kissed her clit gently, almost not at all, and licked the outside edge of it in circles, lavishing the trembles in Olfina’s legs. Then, he gave it a nice lick, then another, and another, until he had the unmistakable taste of her on his tongue and her breathing became frequent and sharp and he grew hungrier for more. Her breasts, which she grabbed at and teased and kneaded, rose and fell with each staggered breath and she soon griped the cheap wooden frame above her as a wave of ecstasy washed over her in time. She buckled into Jon’s mouth, grinding her clit against his nose until she came with a heavy groan and shake.

Their eyes met, their minds synced, and with no words said between them, they spoke to one another: _It had been too long_

Jon licked his lips and Olfina giggled. She adjusted herself on the bed and reached for Jon’s hips.

“Stick it in me.”

He grabbed hold of his cock, a slim line of cum already dripping off the head onto the floor, and pulled it deep towards her warm, wet cunt, and he slowly inserted the thick member between her slippery lips as she pulled him closer with her legs. They both moaned the deeper it went in. He held her legs open with his hands on her inner thighs and thrust into her, causing her breasts to bounce and loosening another moan from the Nord woman. After giving her a second to make sure she was comfortable, he thrust again.

Then again.

Then again.

Faster. And faster.

The bed creaked as his cock was buried inside Olfina and he leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her head and kissed her. His balls slapped the underside of her ass, her breasts swayed back and forth, her cunt was silken.

He put a hand around her neck and fucked her harder and she clawed into his back and wrapped her legs around his and bucked her waist up into his.

“I love you,” she said between moans and breaths.

“I love you, Olfina,” he said back.

He sat back up and grabbed at her breasts with both hands, squeezing and grabbing at them as he fucked her. She felt his cock twitching inside her; he felt her grip tighten. He grabbed her by her hips and his cock tensed and he came in her in several thrusts afterwards. The sensation was almost too much for him; he groaned into the air, shoving himself as deep he could into her in blind pleasure. He stiffened and she writhed into him, hoping to get every drop of him in her. She knew he loved watching it all drip back out.

They laughed after they caught their breaths and kissed each other, sticking their tongues into each other’s mouths. He felt his chest tighten as his thoughts dwelled on Olfina, whom he hid from his family, whom he considered his family.

They spent some time wrapped around each other, their naked, sweaty bodies in a tight embrace. Olfina giggled as she felt him begin to lul to sleep and she kissed him. She wondered where she'd be without Jon, who he might've ended up with had he been senseless as their two families were. She was ready to give everything up just for him. He just had to say it.

Jon snapped awake and smiled at grinned at her, wiping the hair strands away from the face he adored looking at. He wiped her with a rag he had in his trousers and laced her dress back up. He helped her fix her hair, and she tied his trousers for him. 

They stood at the door to the small house together, their hands entwined. "When can I see you again," he asked her. 

"Soon, my love." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, feeling his hands at her hips as he pulled her in closer. If she could have had it her way, she would've asked to move in with him already. Betweent the two of them, they likely could've bought property within the city itself. She left the abandoned house first and made her way back to the inn, dawdling the whole way back; Jon went home a few minutes after she left, humming to himself as he passed between the tall thatched houses. He felt they looked on him approvingly. Another abandoned house passed him by, and he stopped to look at it, imagining a small garden on its outer wall or a pen for some animals, a warm bed with his love, maybe a few younglings running around. He nodded to himself, assuring himself of what to do, and continued his walk, quietly singing to the quiet district. 

When Olfina arrived at the inn, Hulda noted her entry with a nod, though also with a tap on her wrist and a clap of her hands. Olfina nodded, sighed, and made her way to a lonely Nord sitting by himself at a table.

**~oXo~**

* * *

Alessandria came out of her room and kissed the cheek of her departing client. He tried turning and meeting her lips with his tongue, but she stuck a finger between them and prompted him with an extra charge for such a farewell. He looked her up and down once more and left, fasting the belt over his tunic. She scowled and returned to the center of the inn where all the patrons were gathered. The moans of men and women deep in the inn were stifled by the rouse of songs and stomps and clatterings and cheers from the common room. She looked around for any possible customers before her eyes found those of Sirina, a vibrant green, sitting at a corner table. Garmag sat next to her and lifted his canvas hood just above his tusked mouth in order to eat.

The Sister beckoned her with her finger and pulled up a chair next to her. If they were sitting so casually, she reckoned that Hulda must have seen them, and allowed them to stay for whatever reason. Alessandria joined them hesitantly, hoping someone else would call her to a room with them.

No one called.

The Sister leaned in and passed over a mug she was drinking from.

“Just got off a job?” she asked. “How was he, or her?”

Alessandria sipped from the mug, loudly. She didn’t care for mead. “A pretty septim,” she said. “How about you? Swallowed any good cock since I last saw you?”

“Just one if you must know. Surely no more than you have by this point in the night.” Alessandria huffed, rolling her eyes, before Sirina continued. “I didn’t come here to bicker with you.”

“Then why did you come? Not for prospecting, I hope. Hulda works herself to the bone to keep this place afloat, to give us homes and livelihoodss, and you and your cult of loose lips come in and offer yourselves around the city.” Sirina listened intently, nodding her head at the frustrations of the woman before her. “And stop bobbing your head like I’m a child!”

Sirina reached out and touched her hand. “No, I hear you, sister.” Alessandria grimaced at such a connection and pulled her hand away.

“I am not your sister.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “Not officially. But you can be.” Alessandria stared at her for a moment before it sunk in. “That’s why I’m here instead of out there doing my duty.”

Now she openly scoffed at her. “Be a Sister of Dibella? Leave Whiterun and Hulda and my family here? Not by the Nine Divines!” She put the mug down harder than she meant to. The Orc growled under his canvas face, diffusing the increasing flame to a smolder.

After a moment of silence, Sirina began: “I am here because I see much beauty in you, Alessandria. I don’t need to tell you that, physically, you’re beautiful, but more importantly I feel the beauty you have inside you. When we spoke earlier, I felt an energy within you of purity, of hope, despite your admittedly harsh tone. Yes, I share my body freely across the Province, but I do so to connect with the people I live in this land with. To find the joy and beauty and love within all people. To bring everyone closer to The Lady and her teachings.” She put her hand gently atop of Alessandria’s again. “You don’t have to be an object for sale, Alessandria; you can spread love at your own will. Come with us, with me, and I can show you how to find the true love we all harbor within ourselves. I can show you a life where your livelihood is what you make it to be, independent of the whims and wants of those that bear down on you.”

Alessandria's nostrils flared as she breathed loudly, louder than she meant to. It was almost a desperate gasp of air. “I’m going to leave now,” Alessandria said. She looked at the hand that was on hers, and Sirina lifted it, freeing the woman to go. “I already do spread ‘love’,” she said turning back, “and the best part is that I’m paid for the trouble.”

Sirina nodded her head. “I’ll be in the city until tomorrow,” Sirina called out. She turned to Garmag and leaned her head on his shoulder. "What do you think? I've still got that daedric charm, don't I?" A huff under his hood was his response, and he wrapped his around her, listening to the bard's songs.

Alessandria wandered back into her room and shut it behind her. She slid from the door to the basin filled with water that stood by her dresser, recently refilled with clean water, and peered into it. Her eyes looked tired; she moved her hand over her sore jaw; her hair sat matted with sweat and body fluid. She cupped the cool water in her hands and wet her face and neck. The waters lapped around the steel dish until it settled on her image, unchanged. She was still Alessandria Arruleius, a runaway, a whore for The Bannered Mare.

She wondered what could’ve happened, really, had she stayed in Cyrodil, but pushed the thought back when she reminded herself why she left in the first place. She reminded herself of what would happen if she returned. At least here she had a room to herself. Her bed had a mattress, her dresser kept dozens of carefully made dresses, she always had a stable supply of food, people who adored her, and people around her she trusted. By this point, she didn’t mind the job anymore either, being fucked by a dozen or more people on a nightly basis. She liked the money it offered.

It was only a means to an end. To a house in the Plains district, a garden, bookshelves filled across a wall. In a few months, she’d have enough for the house. In a few months after, perhaps enough to furnish it entirely.

A future.

She picked up the ceramic jar that sat on her vanity, also recently refilled, and gently traced the rim with a finger in thought.

Someday, she’d leave it all behind. The room. The early mornings. The elixir. Someday she would stop taking it.

Someone knocked on her door, pulling her out of her fantasy. She put the jar down.

It was a regular of hers.

“Ah, Alessa,” he said, peering into the room with a wide smile. “You’re not busy, are you?” He held a bundle of flowers in his hand.

“No,” she said. “Not busy at all.” She took the older Nord’s hand, set the flowers down on her dresser, and sat him down on the bed. His breathing stopped as she slid her dress straps off her shoulders and closed the door.

Her throat felt sore in the morning. There were a few bruises on her inner thighs and neck. Hulda didn’t approve.

“Either cover those up or have some mead with you so it doesn’t hurt when they get rougher,” she told her.

“Yes, mum.”

The mornings were usually slow at The Bannered Mare. Most who came to the inn did so to eat, and this number was mostly made up of those who had a room for the night. Alessandria was tasked with cleaning the dirty dishes that Olfina brought back from the common room, a task normally given to Saadia. Her and a few other men and women cleaned, prepped, and cooked in the kitchen until their eventual shift change towards the middle of the day.

“Someone’s pretty happy this morning,” Alessandria told Olfina as she was handed a bundle of plates.

Olfina, her smile widening, turned her eyes away from the Imperial. “I saw her leaving with Jon Battle-born,” Adriele, a Breton girl at The Mare, said teasingly, and the room filled with playful gauds and laughs. She was peeling and dicing potatoes when she continued, “I saw her leave out the back, then about an hour later, return with the slyest look in her eyes.”

Alessandria gave a small laugh and Olfina scoffed, crossing her arms under her breasts. “How do you know it was an hour? I could’ve gone out to get wood for the hearth!”

Now it was the chef, Criek, who cried out, “Oh, she went for some wood!” Laughter went around the room some more, eliciting a huff from Olfina. She turned and stormed out of the kitchen, intent on leaving the gossipping ladies to themselves.

“Olfina,” Adriele called out between her laughs, “we won’t tell anyone! You know that! Olfina!”

Several hours later, Hulda came into the kitchen, calling, “Alessa, dear.”

“Yes, Mum,” Alessandria replied, dropping her task.

“You haven’t seen Saadia around, right?” Alessandria was taken back by her tone.

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since she went out with Criek yesterday, Mum. Why?”

“I need you to do a favor for me, Alessa,” Hulda said, shifting her eyes around the kitchen. Criek was working tables and was currently out of the room. Alessa almost asked what the favor was but Hulda took her wrist and pulled her into the common room.

There, a quad of ragged travelers, Redguards with braids under their chin and desert hoods on their heads, sat around a table in the corner of the room. Their eyes analyzed everything in sight with a lion’s hunger and their callused hands lazily shook the untouched pints in their hands.

“I think you’d like this girl very much, instead. She’s our best girl here; everyone in the city loves her! Perhaps one of you would like to take her to our new upstairs room. It’s built standing over the hearth so it’s nice and cozy. Free of charge for traveling such a long way just for us!” She pointed at the wooden room that looked over the common room, a balcony extended outwards over the hearth. Alessandria aimed to speak out but Hulda squeezed her wrist hard, stifling her. "Do what they say and you'll make it out okay," she quietly drilled into her ear. She flashed a tight smile at the travelers once more.

The men glanced at her then spoke quietly amongst themselves. One of them rose, he stood unpredictably tall, and volunteered. Another reached out to stop him but the man swatted the hand away. Alessandria looked at Hulda, who nodded with a pursed smile and exaggeratedly delighted eyebrows. She looked up at the Redguard standing beside her and gave him a small smile. He did not return the gesture.

She led him to the stairs that stood on one side of the room, stairs that rose up into the single suite, and felt the eyes of Hulda and the others who worked the common room every step of the way. Her heart beat against her chest and her breathing was soft, though she didn’t understand why.

“Alessa,” Olfina called out. She nearly jumped at the sudden shout. She turned and was given a tray that held several bottles of mead and a pair of mugs. She had hoped Olfina called her for some other reason. After handing her the tray, Olfina quickly glanced at the Redguard before shuffling off to another table on the other side of the room. Alessandria wanted to desperately call out to Olfina, to anyone, to Hulda herself. Instead, Hulda stood watching the Imperial until she walked away from view, up the stairs into the lone room. She kept that sewn grin on her mouth, keeping up the airs of normalcy. It was just another sale for her.

Alessandria set the tray of drinks down on the small table far away from the double bed on the furthest side of the room from the door. She passed by the large open window on her left that brought cool air and fresh sunlight into the room. The room was more expensive, reserved for the likes of Jarls, wealthy elites, or warriors of renown. The door to her right lead to the balcony where two chairs sat on either side of a small table. The room’s bed was a stuffed mattress with a solid wood frame; creatures of the Whiterun plains such as sabrecats, wolves, and mammoths were meticulously carved into the siderails along it. Tall cabinets lined the surrounding walls filled with furs and robes and dresses worth more than some of the city’s denizens. The Redguard closed the door behind him and stared at her as she pulled the cork off a bottle and poured it into the two mugs.

“Would you care for a drink?” He didn’t answer. She had her back to the large warrior and drank from her cup, unwilling to face him. The Reguard undid the wide leather belt around his waist and shed the leather jerkin he wore. His wide-sleeved tunic soon came off, and his bloomed trousers fell to the floor. His skin was a deep bronze, almost leather. His skin was taut over his muscles. His cock was hard despite nothing having happened. She gulped down the rest of her drink whole and turned to face the man.

She slipped the straps of her cotton white dress off her shoulders revealing her ample breasts. Stepping forward, she grabbed the man’s cock with her hand, cupped his face with the other and drew him for a kiss. He stuck a hand between them and pushed her back.

“Where is the girl?” he finally said in his heavy accent, startling her. She looked at him puzzled before he asked again.

“Who?” He raised his belt, folded over itself in his hand, and whipped it across her, and she screamed.

“The Redguard woman. We heard there was a Redguard woman at this inn.” The man stepped forward, his frame blocking her from possibly moving around him. Her brain scrambled to make sense of what he wanted.

“Saadia? Why are you looking for Saadia?” Her mind flashed to Hulda’s own inquiry. She staggered backwards but with a single step, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her shoulders, his hands large as plates. With his thumbs, he pushed into them, drawing more screams from her before easing the pressure.

“Where is Saadia?” He whipped the belt across her again, drawing another cry.

“I don’t know. Ow! I don’t know, I swear! I haven’t seen her since this morning. Please, I don’t know where she is!” She hoped her screams would send Hulda or even one of the men they had for security, Criek or Wultrom even, running up the stairs to her rescue. Any minute now, she thought.

Her eyes were drawn to his free hand which glowed with an emerald green. She didn’t have time to wonder what it was before she found out. His palm struck her chest and she fell back on the bed. Her eyes widened as she realized she couldn’t move a limb of her body. Her voice too was trapped in her throat. All she could do is struggle to breathe, blink, and look up at the thatched roof. A realization had crept over her. She wasn't going to die, but she preferred death in that moment.

The Redguard took hold of her knees and ripped her legs open and dragged her to the edge of the bed. A silent grunt whittled its way out of her lips. She was trapped in her own body and she prayed to the Divines for safety. She felt her dress ripped off her body in a single tug and his dry hand slide up her lower lips. She felt her stomach churn and her heart drop as she hastily prepared herself, mentally, for what was bound to happen. _Any minute now, they'll come through that door. They have to._ His hand retreated and time seemed to freeze. She heard nothing but her raspy breathing and the occasional plate clatter downstairs. _Please._

He forced himself inside her.

She wished she could scream. To even cry.

His thrusts were knives. His grunts burned a hole in her ears. She could feel his stiff cock began to twitch inside her already. She was thankful it’d be over quick, at least.

Then he started to groan and he forced his way deeper into her for his final thrust. Tears worked their way out of Alessandria’s shaking eyes and poured down her cheeks. She felt his full weight against her and silently hoped she would die this time. The Redguard groaned louder with a final thrust, and she felt him fill her up. She shut her eyes, for that’s all she could do.

She expected him to pull out of her by now, but after he tensed up he stood still within her.

What she didn’t see was that the Redguard’s veins protruded from his face and neck, looking to burst. His eyes reddened and swelled. Drool dripped its way out of his half-open mouth. His grip on her legs tightened and she heard a horrible, gurgling noise come from his throat. His body was a spring, tensely wound with restricted energy.

At last the door to the room exploded inward, causing her heart to jump. Unsheathing a mighty greatsword of Dwarven origin off his back, the Orc Garmag stepped through the rubble and thrust his blade swiftly and forcefully through the Redguard’s collar until its tip nearly lodged itself into the wooden floor behind him and yanked it out, splattering the walls and his burlap hood with blood. It poured from the gaping wounds onto Alessandria, churning her stomach. Her nostrils flared and her lungs filled with the pent up screams she held. The body collapsed and convulsed on the ground. Blood seeped from the body and dripped through the floorboards into the common room below.

Sister Sirina soon stepped through the doorway and gasped after finding Alessandria’s state. She rushed to her side and looked over the blood-soaked, frozen girl. She tried wiping some of the blood from her and looked the terrified girl in the eye. “We’re here.” Alessandria couldn’t help but shed more tears at the sight of a friendly face at last. Sirina cupped the girl’s face gently, smiled softly, and stroked her hair twice. “You could’ve separated them before killing him,” she told the large Orc. An uttered noise was his only response. The mangled Redguard unsettled her, his veins clearly visible through his skin and his face horribly contorted. “We need to leave,” the sister said. “Right now.” Bending out the open window, she noted the height to the ground, making sure they wouldn’t land on anything below.

Garmag the Orc stepped forward to scoop the Alessandria into his arms, but the three Redguard from downstairs rushed into the room, scimitars and daggers in hand. One of them had a green glowing fist that he raised at them. Garmag had readied his greatsword but Sirina placed her hand on his arm and beckoned him not to fight. “It won’t be a good death, my love. Help us escape out this window instead, please.”

He nodded and took hold of the dead Redguard and flung him towards his old companions, knocking two of them to the ground. The Orc then lifted the naked woman in his arms and Sirina hopped on his back.

“Be gentle with her,” she told him. He uttered a noise. He stepped off the windowsill.

They landed with a boom, the earth underneath them cratering slightly, startling the people in the nearby shops and alleys. They were behind the inn, in the middle of the city. Sirina took off the linen cloak she wore and draped it over Alessandria. Above, the Alik’r shouted at them before disappearing back into the inn. Even through the walls of the inn, commotion could be heard inside. Screams, shouts, doors being slammed, plates shattering. No doubt they were scrambling to meet them outside. The trio made their way towards the high walls of the city, the outer borders, and followed them to the front gates.

“Shut your eyes for now,” Sirina told Alessandria. “Sun’s not good for them.”

They hid behind a house down the ways from the gates once they neared them, and Sirina moved ahead to check if they were expected. She didn’t spy any Alik’r warriors, but time was fleeting. The city wasn’t that big. Even if they managed to leave the city without interruption, she was confident the Alik'r would chase them on the road. Garmag could surely cut them down with ease, she thought, but the spells they apparently had in their arsenal made her hesitant to give him the order. She bit her lip as she looked around.

Her arm was suddenly grabbed and given a yank and Sirina violently turned to look at who she would receive her fully cocked fist. It was an old woman dressed in heavily layered garments pocked with moth holes. Feebly bent over, she held Sirina's arm in her shaking hand.

"Oh, forgive me, miss," Sirina told her. "You gave me quite a scare." The old woman was blind, her eyes clear and cloudy. The great grey lakes hid the power behind them.

"The Redguard will find you," she croaked. "I've seen it. You will lay with him, you seeped in blood and your filth, willingly in the Orsimer's tomb." Sirina looked at the woman incredulously and tried to pull her arm away, but the hag latched on fiercely. She hissed as the old woman's unkempt nails cut into her soft skin. "I've seen you, deep in the depths amongst the ancient sins of Skyrim. If only your ancestors knew what was to come." The waters within the hag's eyes began to swirl. "The girl he carries will be the end of him, of you too. She'll rise to great power, and doom you all." The crone laughed dry and gently. "I've seen you among your sisters, your blazing hair unmistakable, all of you whores of the Daedric Princes, ripped between two plains of Oblivion and split between them both for all eternity." Sirina's eyes were wide and she stood motionless, fixated on the visions she saw in the crone's eyes. She began to weep. Blood trickled its way down her arm.

An angry growl snapped the two out of their locked gazes, bringing Sirina back to reality. Garmag stood a few feet away from the crone, a mad aura encasing him. He only carried Alessandria with both arms for her comfort. He could do it with just one, and was prepared to do so. The old hag broke her bond with Sirina and rustled off into the city. She looked the towering Orc once over and scowled.

Sirina quickly wiped her eyes with her eyes and took several deep breaths. She placed her arm on Garmag's bicep, as large and dense as stone, and thanked him for his presence. Carefully adjusting Alessandria into his other arm, he carefully placed his immense hand on Sirina's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. She took it and placed it on her cheek for a moment, before suggesting they move onwards. He moved forward and she watched him carefully, and looked at the girl he was carrying. _Prophecies can be wrong. Afterall, who even is this hag? _For some reason, she wasn't wholly convinced.__

____

____

The great gates of Whiterun were beset by a squad of the city's finest. Two were present on the left and right of the large wooden doors, both on the inside and out. Several archers stood watch on wooden platforms, their bows and eyes peering over the looming bulwark. The guard barracks sat as the first building nearest the gate, heavy defense should the city ever be breached. Leaving the Whiterun wasn't normally a problem; it was if you wanted to get back in that was troublesome. Regardless, the guard captain on their side of the gate approached them with his hand drawn up to greet them.

“What’s the trouble with her?” he pointed to Alessandria. “Where might you be taking her, an unconscious woman, on your way out of the city?”

Sirina smiled understandably. The guards opposite of the gate put his hand on the hilt of his sword, despite the mountain holding the woman in question. Their eyes squinted at them askance.

“Guard," Sirina called. "You must help us. My friend - she’s being pursued by a band of Alik’r. We come from The Bannered Mare where I found her in her current state. My companion and I were attacked as well for trying to help her, and I believe we're now being pursued as well.” She lifted the arm the crone dug her jagged nail into, showing it off to the watchful guards. She then stepped forward and put her hand on the guard’s arm. “Please, help us.” The other guards brandished their swords and demanded she step away. Garmag turned toward them, ready to drop Alessandria if need be. Sirina snapped her finger at him, and he begrudgingly calmed.

“Those damned Alik’r causing trouble now?” He frowned and looked at his partner. “Not to worry, miss, I’ll deal with the scum myself. Jorgen, Kjamer,” he called to his partners, "Come with me. Let's remind these Redguard how cold Skyrim can be to troublemakers. You’re free to pass, miss.” The trio of guards marched off into the city with their weapons drawn, their cloaks billowing in behind them.

Sirina smiled at the other guards as they continued out the city towards the stables, leaving Whiterun and The Bannered Mare behind them.


	2. Post-Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fallout at The Bannered Mare, Alessandria wakes up in a tent in the tundra of Whiterun, having been carted off a safe distance from Whiterun by Sirina and Garmag. Though grateful, she unfortunately requests that they return to Whiterun so she could get her contraception. She learns a little more about the people who helped save her on the way back, what it really means to be a Sister of Dibella, and has a heart-to-heart with Sirina.

Pain. A dull aching pain wrapped itself around the lower half of her body, from her waist to her feet. She awoke groggy. She heard the gentle wind rolling in from the plains, heard the soft shuffling of the flowers and bramble rustling, the snaps and crackle of the fire just outside the tent.

A tent.

Alessandria realized she wasn’t in Whiterun anymore and shot up out of the bed roll she was in and recalled the last events that she remembered. The Sister and the Orc. The Redguard. “By the Eight,” she wept.

The tent flap opened and Sirina’s face emerged. “Oh, you’re awake. She’s up, Gar,” she said outwards. The Orc nodded back to her. Alessandria wiped her eyes. “How do you feel?” She crawled into the tent and sat beside the crying girl and wrapped her arms around her.

Alessandria noticed she had been dressed. “It hurts,” she cried quietly, embracing Sirina.

“I know.” She rubbed the girl’s back and stroked her hair and held her as she cried.

When Alessandria’s tears ran thin, Sirina looked at her and invited her to come with her. “It’s a lovely night out, you should come see the sky. I caught dinner too. Garmag’s out there cooking it up for us right now.” Alessandria pulled her arm away when Sirina tried leading her.

Sirina kept her smile warm and suggested that she eat, “I don’t know when you’ve eaten last, but we’ve traveled half a day out of the city and have rested here for several hours now. I’m sure you’re famished.”

Alessandria sat motionless, recalling the morning’s events. Hulda pulling her out of the kitchen and handing her to that fiend. The braid of his beard tied with a yellow string. The sheer size of him. The thatched roof she’d seen hundreds of times now a sinister memory.

No one went up to save her. Not Hulda. Not Olfina. Not even Skaold or Wutrom had tried to barge their way in. She knew they must’ve heard her scream. The mezzanine wasn’t built to keep out noise, and with the inn in its morning quiet, she knew she was heard. It stood over a quarter of the common room after all. Hulda heard her cry out and did nothing.

A touch on her shoulder brought her back. “We’ll be outside, if you’d want to join us at some point,” Sirina said.

“Was it you,” Alessandria asked, “who dressed me, or was it _him_.”

“The shirt’s Garmag’s as you can probably tell, sorry. None of my dresses or tunics are very warm, so I thought I could lend you something from him. I did dress you, though.”

Alessandria picked at the oversized gown she wore. It could fit another person inside with her. It was wool, and therefore warm. She had linen trousers on with thin wool hosen underneath. Sirina had on a pair herself.

“Thank you.”

Sirina’s smile grew. “Don’t think much of it. Food’s almost ready if you’re hungry. I can bring you a bite if you’d like as well. I can save the plump rabbit for you if you come out soon enough. There’s only so much I can do to hold back Garmag’s hunger.” She winked playfully at Alessandria, then crawled out.

Alessandria sat in the small tent, knees to her chest, and thought over the events of the morning over and over. Her skin crawled whenever she got to the Redguards’ introduction, and she nearly dry-heaved when she thought of the closed door behind her as it shut. Her thoughts then focused more closely on each word said throughout the morning, and she realized: The Redguard were looking for Saadia.

Alessandria spoke truly when she said she hadn’t seen Saadia since the day prior, but she hadn’t given it much thought since she’d really only see Saadia in the mornings.

Then it clicked.

She realized why Saadia was always in either the kitchen or in her room. Why she wouldn’t even go out into the commons to look for clients. She’d only get her clients through Hulda – and only if the innkeeper personally talked to them beforehand. She was hiding. That must have been why she saw that Hulda was nervous with the Redguard. That’s why she was sent up there with them. Hulda used her as a diversion.

She wondered if it was worth it to Hulda, saving Saadia by throwing her to the wolves. For all anyone knew, they could’ve gotten Saadia at some point shortly after. By the Nine, what he did to her…

If only Garmag had saved her before the monster came inside –

Then another realization clicked, and she frantically scrambled out of the tent.

“My jar,” she cried out at the pair huddled around the fire. “We have to go back for it.”

Sirina put down her half-eaten leg of rabbit. “What jar?”

“My elixir jar. I leave it on the vanity in my room. We need to go back for it.”

“What’s so special about this elixir? Does it keep you looking nice and young forever or something?”

“No,” Alessandria snapped. “It stops me from getting pregnant. I sip it every time after I have sex with someone.”

Sirina corked the waterskin she herself sipped out of and looked at Garmag. “That sounds very handy, doesn’t it?” Garmag, rotating a plump skinned and gutted rabbit, only grumbled under his breath. He still wore the burlap bag over his head.

“This is serious,” Alessandria yelled. “Do you know what he did to me? Do you know that he came inside of me? I don’t want to have a child, let alone one with a monster like him! We need to go before his seed takes root.”

“Calm down,” Sirina said. “I understand your concern, believe me I do. Right now, though, it’s a non-issue. You’re not going to get pregnant after a day.” Sirina padded the empty ground next to her. “Come on, sit with us. We’ll go back to Whiterun in the morning and get you that jar.”

Alessandria quieted, and after a moment, she stepped over to sit by the Sister. She stared into the fire over which the rabbit sizzled and crackled as it cooked. Sirina spoke, “Besides, I cleaned you up as soon as we got far enough from the city. I wouldn’t have dressed you if your clothes could be a crusty mess soon after.”

Garmag brought the rabbit, skewered on a long piece of wood, to his bagged face and took a large audible sniff at it. He made his usual noise, and he handed it to Alessandria across from him. She assumed it meant it was done but wasn’t so sure. The smell of it made her stomach growl, a similar noise to Garmag’s throaty responses.

Alessandria let it cool for a moment then tore into the rabbit with a starved furor, spitting out bone after every other bite. It was rubbery, bland, and the bones were numerous, but she in that moment she loved it.

Sirina laughed when she saw how Alessandria ate up her food. “My, someone’s hungry.”

“I haven’t eaten since this morning,” Alessandria said between bites. “Soup with a loaf of bread doesn’t last all day, unfortunately.”

“You’d get fucked all day and all you’d have to eat each morning was bloody soup?”

Alessandria was already over halfway done with her meal. Sirina handed over her waterskin, to which Alessandria drank from before stating, “No, I mean, yes, but it wasn’t our only meal. It had meat in it too, usually either pork or venison from the night before.”

“It sounds like your innkeeper was more interested in keeping you all thin than properly feeding you.”

“No, Alessandria assured, “it’s just what was normally leftover. Most people take the meat cuts we serve and by the end of the night, only the broths and a few scraps of meat are all that’s left until we go to the market.” She took another few bites from the rabbit in her hands, then continued. “We’d also get lunches, and sometimes dinners too, though it would depend on the time we’d eat and how many people came into The Bannered Mare that night.”

“Sometimes is better than never, I suppose, though hardly just for the work you do. I haven’t lived like that in a long time, personally. My Sisters and I could eat whatever and whenever we want when we travel. We tend to be the ones negotiating the deals to eat this way too.”

“What would you deal in exchange? Your mouth, or your open legs?” she replied sharply. Sirina sighed and looked into the fire silently. “I’m sorry,” Alessandria whispered. “I shouldn’t judge you so harshly. After all, I’m indebted to you for rescuing me and in the same line of work.”

“It’s okay,” Sirina said softly. “I often meet people like you. All of my Sisters do. We’re used to it.”

Alessandria stared into the fire uncomfortably and tossed her scraps into the whipping flames. She looked at the Sister’s large faint scar on her cheek and wondered if people like herself were ones to give her such a mark. It went from just under her left eye down to her jawbone. It was a messy cut. At least a few years old.

She perked up when Sirina started talking again and tried to not make it seem like she was staring. “If you must know,” she started to say, “the traveling Sisters all pay differently for different services. I happen to pay with a special coin we make in Markarth for future services of any kind. Those services aren’t just sex either. Sometimes I’m called for a sermon in Dibella’s lessons on love and beauty, often as a supplement to the lessons of Mara; sometimes a hopeful couple requests that I call on the Lady to aid them in their fertility; sometimes all someone needs is a pretty girl’s smile, or a kiss, or their hand hold with sincerity. Sometimes, though, yes I’ll have sex with someone.” She looked directly at Alessandria with a sternness in her eyes. “Whatever I do, I never feel shame in what I do for The Lady.” Garmag, sitting beside her, nodded his head slowly and subtly.

Alessandria sat silently. She dared not say anything else to rouse the Sister’s anger. After a while of sitting in silence, Sirina announced she and Garmag were going to bed. Sirina threw a few logs onto the fire for Alessandria, and the two went off into a separate tent beside the one Alessandria woke up in.

Alessandria stayed out sitting by the fire for a while longer and wondered if Saadia was alright.

The winds from the plains blew through the camp, fanning the campfire, and chilling the young Imperial. Staying by the warmth of the fire, she walked around the small camp Sirina and Garmag had made while she was asleep. There were two tents; her’s was smaller than the other and was in better overall condition.

Two horses stood outside the perimeter of the camp, silent, most likely sleeping. They seemed healthy and strong breeds built for travailing Skyrim’s cold and rocky terrain. Their reins were set in the ground with security stakes, keeping them in place through the night. Their saddles rested at their feet.

She walked to the edge of the camp and peered out into the sea of grass and flowers. The moon provided a faint light, just enough to admire the sway of the flora waves, but tiny dots of light could be seen far off in the distance from Whiterun. She wrapped her arms around herself and hoped that Saadia was okay, and that the Redguard were far enough away from them both.

Far away, a wolf howled into the night, its echo carried by the wind across the plains. She huddled into herself and made off into her tent, wrapping herself to sleep in the soft fur bedroll.

* * *

**~oXo~**

Late in the night, Alessandria snapped awake. Sitting up, she listened closely for voices from outside her tent. Whispers, stifled laughter, and traces of words were audible, and as she listened close, she froze in place. She could feel her face turn red. It was Sirina and Garmag, she realized, in their tent just a few feet away from hers.

Sirina had slipped off Garmag’s trousers and tossed them aside. Even in the dark, she could tell his erection stood high above his waist. Licking her hand, she took hold of what she could and gently stroked his cock. He groaned, and she giggled, and sped up her movement. She could feel him tense up. She slicked her other hand and wrapped it around his balls and felt how loose they felt. She smiled; she loved his balls when they were low. With both her hands, she was able to fully grasp Garmag’s cock and stroked it up and down, licking the length of it and kissing its head. A slimy trail stuck to her lips and she lapped it up with glee. She kissed his lips and lick his tongue, giving him a hint of what she tasted from his beading cock.

His cock’s head went into her mouth and he moaned and grabbed a tuff of her red hair. Her spit slid down the rest of his shaft and she bobbed her head back and forth slowly, taking another inch of his cock in her mouth each time. After she managed to take it all in, she began working her head faster, and her hands began stroking his cock even more and with more vigor. His cock poked the back of her throat and probed its way down, and when it did the drool would spill out from her open mouth down his cock, slicking it further.

Garmag wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled on it, forcing her to take even more of him. Her lips touched his crotch, having taken in the entire length of him into her throat, and he held her there for several seconds before pulling back and pulling her in once more. She could taste the cum building up in him fiercely. Finally, he let go. She popped his cock out of her mouth and took a moment to breathe easily, and she laughed quietly.

Sirina, completely nude save for her amulet of Dibella around her neck, took hold of Garmag’s cock in her hand and mounted him. He grabbed at her large breasts and massaged them in circles and pinched her stiff nipples in his fingers and brought them in his mouth and she guided his cock to her wet cunt. He slipped in easily, though his size and girth made her cautious in taking him in, but with every inch he went inside, a moan grew in her chest. He felt her twist her waist on his cock, drilling it deep into herself before she began to ride him.

Her breasts bounced and shook as she increased her pace and he began to thrust up into her and her hair swayed along with her breasts and the bounce of her amulet and the rhythm of her breathing and the tempo of their fucking. His hand reached up and grabbed her throat and his other grabbed her hip and he took control. He lifted her up and brought her down onto him at his own fast pace and she moaned louder with it only muffled due to his hand keeping it from coming out. Sirina reached back and spread her ass, hoping he’d go in further with the extra space and left her other hand on his stone-like chest muscles for support.

Then, Garmag lifted her off him and turned her over onto her knees and hands. She was panting, catching her breath, and braced herself for her favorite part of having Garmag as a companion in her travels. Garmag, with his hand as big as a bear’s paw, grabbed at her ass and smacked it, causing her to squeal sharply. He grabbed hold of his cock and slid fully back in Sirina. They moaned with the motion.

He then took hold of her hips with his hands and thrust himself into her, and Sirina moaned, this time clear into the night. Then he did it again, and again, and again. Each thrust harder, and faster than the last. Sirina’s ass shook continuously and her breasts, dangling from her chest, rocked into each other and were slapped by the pendant on her swinging amulet every time Garmag’s balls swung against Sirina’s slick wet cunt and she moaned into the earth and hoped he would cum deep in her.

“More,” she whispered back at him. “More, more!” Garmag groaned and took a fist of her hair and pulled her back and gripped her right shoulder in his other hand and fucked her harder and deeper. All the spit and pre-cum and the wet of her cunt sopped their crotches and the ground beneath them and the tent grew warm and the pair had sweat dripping from their brows and on their backs. Sirina spoke, but no intelligible words could be heard in the noise she made. The sounds of her enjoyment and the sounds of Garmag’s effort and grunts were all they could hear. She tried to say something, anything, but only a single letter sound was all that trailed out from her voice.

She felt his cock begin to tense up inside her. “Yes, please,” she begged.

She smiled and laughed in between her cries. Garmag grunted and took hold of her hips once more and thrust into Serina several times, each thrust shooting a stream of hot cum into her. She moaned loudly into her hand as she felt the warmth fill her, and bit her finger hard enough to draw blood as she squeezed her legs on his cock and spasmed in her own orgasm and fell to floor with her ass in the air and the breath fucked out of her lungs. Garmag sat down, himself out of breath, and fell gently on his back. Sirina slowly regained enough strength to crawl next to Garmag and wrapped her arm across his chest. He was already snoring, and soon, she too was asleep with the largest smile anyone could see on her face and a stream of sweat sliding down all over from her body and a trickle of an Orc’s cum seeping from her cunt onto the bedroll they lay on.

**~oXo~**

* * *

The next morning, Alessandria awoke but stayed in bed, hoping to make it seem like she slept heavily through the night. She heard Garmag groan awake and get out of his tent and waiting several minutes, she too crawled out. Garmag set to work properly dousing the embers of their camp. He knelt and felt the faint heat radiating from the fire pit dug into the ground and kicked soil and grass over it, snuffing out the flame. The brown burlap sack still covered his head.

Alessandria was startled when she found Sirina on her knees facing the sun, bare naked. Her hair was swept up by the wind and her skin glowed in the morning sun and she wore a smile just as warm. She sat with her hands formed in the shape of a diamond over her stomach and her eyes gently closed.

“What are you doing?” Alessandria called to her. She neared the naked woman and looked her over. Sirina was stunning. Her skin was like warmed sand, and her hair flickered and fluttered like the blaze of their campfire in the wind.

“Praying,” she replied. “Join me.” Alessandria began to kneel, but Sirina stopped her before she could finish. “Praying to the Lady requires you to face her in your most intimate state.”

She opened her mouth to object, but Alessandria instead looked over at Garmag, who had finished rolling up the bigger tent. Her cheeks began to flush as she remembered overhearing their sexual encounter the previous night. She wondered if he could see clearly through that bag of his.

“There’s no need to be shy,” Sirina spoke. “He can’t really see too well, especially with that bag on his head.” Alessandria looked back at the Orc and studied what he’d do. He had put the saddles on the horses and tied the rolled-up tents to them securely before feeling for their necks, and once he did so, moved his way to their faces and pet each of them carefully.

She wasn’t completely sure, but she relented and pulled off her oversized tunic and let her linen trousers fall to the ground and knelt beside Sirina. She tried mirroring her hands like Sirina had them, but Sirina told her, “It’s okay. You don’t have to do it like this. You can have your hands in the air, on your thighs, or bent at your elbow. Whatever feels right. Here take this and either wear it around your neck or have it in your hand.” She passed over her Dibellan amulet. The amulet was remarkably simple, yet elegant. It was made of bronze with a pendant composed of a stylized lily with a pearl at its base. Its chain was long and made of leather. She tied the amulet, whose pendant sat in between her bare breasts, around her neck and placed her hands on her thighs.

Alessandria thanked Dibella for sending her agent to Whiterun. Without Sirina and Garmag, she would be dead, or a captive toy for the rest of the Redguard. Alessandria never did much praying, but she felt lighter, a bit more lifted, after doing so.

“What do you pray for?” she asked Sirina.

“All sorts of things,” she replied. “For guidance, charm, safety between travels, peace.” They sat in silence for some moments, listening to the birds chirp together in the tall grasses, and the distant elk calling among their herd.

“My name is Alessandria,” she said at last. “Alessandria Aerulius.” Sirina softly nodded. “I’m sorry for what I said last night, Sirina. It was wrong, and ignorant, and canted. The truth is,” she sighed, “my body is the only means I’ve known to get what I want. By this point, I’m not even sure if it’s mine anymore.” The Sister opened her eyes and looked at Alessandria with a loving smile. Her scar was much clearer to her eyes than she remembered, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty and candor.

“Think nothing of it, sister. Hurtful words can be said impulsively, but they come from fear, or misunderstanding, or both. You don’t understand who I am, what I do, why I’ve come to Whiterun, or even why Garmag and I came to your aid yesterday morning, but I know your heart and I know it is good, Alessandria.” She got up to stand in front of Alessandria and lifted her chin up to her viridescent eyes. “Communication leads to understanding, and understanding fosters peace, peace grows into love, and love overcomes all.” Sirina knelt and planted a small kiss on Alessandria’s forehead. “Lesson one, sister.”

It was the sweetest kiss she ever had. Sirina’s lips felt springy and full; their smallest touch was enough to leave her stunned.

Sirina walked back to help Garmag and Alessandria turned to watch her. The incredible Nord woman hugged the hulking Orc and thanked him for his work in packing up their camp. She carefully lifted his burlap hood to set a gentle kiss upon his cheek and nuzzled her face in his hand afterwards. She told him to sit and rest while she got changed, and helped finish packing up their bedrolls and tying them to their saddles.

“Well,” she called out to Alessandria, “get dressed, we have half a day’s ride back, and neither I nor Garmag wish to stay there into the night again.” Alessandria smiled and grabbed her clothes.

The day fell into mid-morning, and the peaks of Whiterun’s Dragonreach castle reached high into the heavens, challenging the great mountain Monahven. Rabbits scuffled through the tall grasses and hawks flew overhead on watch. The horses they rode trotted on the cobbled road. A rich brown Hjalmir carried both Sirina and Alessandria ahead of Garmag, who rode a Hrím, black as charcoal.

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Alessandria?” Sirina asked over her shoulder. She grasped the stirrups lightly in her hand as Alessandria held her by the waist.

“A few times, though I never steered one myself.” She had her head on Sirina’s back and stared out at the open plains towards the mountain peaks far beside them.

Sirina smiled and looked back at her. “Would you like to?” She held up the reins to Alessandria, who eagerly reached to grab them. “We’ve got to switch if you want to steer, dummy.”

“Well, someone’s got to pull this horse over, dummy.” Sirina steered the horse off the road and halted.

“Alessandria’s going to steer,” she called back to Garmag. “Go on ahead, we’ll catch up!”

Alessandria looked at her with a worried eye. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She looked back at Garmag who leisurely trotted on the road. The horse seemed to almost steer itself.

“Positive. We’ll only be a minute.” They slid off the horse and got back on, switching seats. “Now Cinnamon won’t move unless you tell her. She’s sweet, so don’t be too rough on her, okay?”

Alessandria smiled and laughed softly upon hearing the horse’s name. “Cinnamon?”

“Yes, she’s named Cinnamon.”

“And she’s sweet.”

“Yes, now hush.” Alessandria laughed. “To get her moving, squeeze her sides with your legs. Once she gets going, let off.” Alessandria did as instructed, and Cinnamon slowly trotted forward. “Hey, that’s good!” Alessandria smiled and reached over to pet Cinnamon’s neck, feeling the muscle and hair and mane of hers.

She glanced up to look for Garmag and found him far ahead, still moving at an easygoing pace. “How do I get her to move faster?”

“You can give her a kick but don’t ki— Ah!” They shot forward as Alessandria didn’t wait to listen. Cinnamon galloped past Garmag and into the plains, jumping over stone and ponds with abandon. “Pull on the reins!” she yelled. Alessandria pulled back on the reins with her whole body, pushing Sirina off the back of the horse. Sirina landed with a thump on the soft soil of the tundra.

“Not that hard,” she said to herself, rubbing her head. She looked and saw Alessandria’s hair billowing behind her as Cinnamon continued galloping. Sirina quickly stood up and placed her fingers in her mouth. A loud whistle pierced the cold air.

Cinnamon neighed and reared up, throwing Alessandria off her back, then returned to her owner. In hardly any time, Sirina rode up to where Alessandria fell. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked the splayed girl.

Alessandria got up well enough and laughed about the ordeal after Sirina helped her up onto the saddle.

“As I was going to say, don’t kick her too hard.” They both laughed and Sirina pet Cinnamon as they made their way back to the road. “You just lost Cinnamon privileges for the day,” she jokingly told Alessandria, who laughed alongside her.

Garmag had stopped his horse and had looked on in their direction. Once Sirina waved and called out to him that they were coming back, he set his horse in motion once again.

“Hey,” Alessandria began, spying the Orc off in the distance, “What’s the story with Garmag and that bag on his head? I’ve been meaning to ask but, well, I don’t know if he’d be upset by me asking.”

Sirina laughed, “Does he really scare you, Alessandria?”

“Yes, and I’m surprised he doesn’t scare you either. He’s an Orc. He doesn’t talk, he only growls, and he’s incredibly huge. I thought the Redguard at The Bannered Mare was huge, but Garmag is clearly much bigger.”

Sirina’s mouth pursed for a moment before she spoke. “Mm,” she hummed. “Well, Garmag’s an old softie inside. As for the bag, you see, it was a bit over a six months ago that I found him against a rotting tree stump. He looked like he was thrown off a mountain and tumbled down hitting every tree and rock on his way down.” Sirina laughed. “You could barely tell a body was living under that pool of blood.”

“The most surprising part,” she said, “was most of it wasn’t even his. Around him were two dead sabrecats. One had a pair of Orsinium war axes stuck in its head and body. The other was missing its head. He later told me he ripped it off with his bare hands.” Alessandria gasped lightly.

“You mean Garmag entered a blood frenzy? I thought that was just a story.”

“Well, well, looks like you might know what I’m talking about.” Alessandria smiled at her. “I don’t know the exact details of it, but yes, the Orsimer can have a nasty temper if they’re feeling violent. They get incredibly angry and murderous, disregarding their own well-being. Some call it their ‘blood rage,’ or ‘blood frenzy.’ Once they go berserk, they don’t stop until either their target is dead, or they are.”

“Wow, so he can actually be stronger than he is already.” Alessandria thought about how she heard the door to the mezzanine shatter, and how easily he was able to lift the full cart from the market all the way to The Bannered Mare. The potential strength he wielded was unimaginable to her.

“Garmag is incredibly strong. I’ve never met someone with more sheer might than him.” Sirina looked far ahead at Garmag bobbing along the road and smiled. Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment before she continued her tale. “Supposedly, though, there are many other Orcs just as strong, if not stronger than him, dotted all along Skyrim alone.” Alessandria’s eyes widened at the possibility. “You see, Garmag comes from an Orc stronghold to the East, or rather, was cast out, having been considered all used up for his life.”

“He was getting old,” Alessandria whispered, now understanding.

“Exactly. Orsimer warriors don’t ‘grow old’ like you or I will. They either die in combat to appease their god or they die ‘weak’. They refrain from taking any wives in old age, and they can’t become a chieftain for a clan, and so, many simply seek a noble death to satisfy their beliefs. When I found Garmag lying there, he was dying, having sought out such a death. His face was torn and bit up, his armor was tattered, he had a large slash by his neck. He didn’t like it at first, but I nursed him back to health in exchange for his companionship. I told him that at some point, he was bound to find some ‘good death’ traveling with me, so he’d have nothing to lose by enjoying life a little longer alongside a Sister of Dibella.”

“And you two fuck each other during this?” Sirina didn’t say anything for a moment, instead smiling and biting her lip softly.

“Heard us last night then? Well, eh, yes,” she laughed, rubbing the back of her head. "That was one of our arrangements, actually. Tradition said he was to take no wives in his age, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have someone to have sex with regularly. I could practice some of the more Intimate Dibellan Arts between villages and cities, and he gets a warm body to stick his cock into each night. We both benefit. My, what a cock he has too.” Alessandria looked away from Sirina almost embarrassed of what she had heard yet stifled a small laugh also. “I still have a duty to attend to, however. I don’t want anyone to be intimidated by his mangled face and refuse my services when he’s with me, so I asked if he would wear a mask when we reach a destination.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Sirina looked back at her with her eyes furrowed. “I wouldn’t ask him to wear it if the wounds made him handsome. Not that I mind, of course. Too many Nords see the Orsimer as battle-starved brutes, calling them Orcs or simply beasts. They’re judgmental and quick to assumption. His condition would only agitate the people I visit.”

After catching up with Garmag, the trio rode in silence together through the chilly tundra. Alessandria would glance over at Garmag and search for any sign of the wounds Sirina spoke of. His cloak covered most of his body, though his forearms were mostly visible as he held the reigns in his hands. His grip would shift from relaxed to tense and with every squeeze he gave the leather straps, an audible stress would bleed out of them. The top of his left hand had the signs of an old puncture wound. It was too round to be a blade. His head turned to look at her through his burlap bag, and she darted her gaze ahead towards the city.

The refugee camp and the walls and Dragonsreach grew increasingly closer, and by the afternoon, Whiterun was before them once again. The stench of excrement and rot and death hung in the air outside the city. The khajiit caravanners had their camp closest to the gates though well within the boundaries of the impromptu district growing outside of Whiterun. The race of feline people huddled before their fire, roasting cuts of beef and pork and seasoning them with their private reserves of moon sugar.

The trio hitched the two horses at the stables near the gates. A number of horses of varying breeds and colors were lined up beside each other in a large stable. After dismounting and putting away the horses, Sirina placed Garmag’s hand on her cheek and asked if he could stay nearby while she and Alessandria briefly entered the city. He hummed and rubbed her cheek slowly with his thumb.

As they approached the great wooden gate of Whiterun, the guards halted the two women and asked for their business in Whiterun.

Alessandria stepped forward, “I work at The Bannered Mare and would like to regain entry into the city. She is a Sister of Dibella visiting the greatest city in Skyrim.”

The guard looked Alessandria over through the eye slots in his helm. “A girl from The Bannered Mare and a Sister of Dibella, eh?” He looked at Alessandria closer and snapped his fingers. “Stand against this wall. Away from me. Put your hands on the wall.” Alessandria did as instructed. She thought she was being pat down for weapons, but the guard instead grabbed her waist and reached under her shirt to grab at her breasts.

“Hey,” Sirina yelled, “what is this! Get off her!” The other guards only watched. One pretended to not see what was going on a few feet from him. Alessandria turned and swatted the guard away from her. She could feel the perverted smile he had on under his helmet as he stepped back.

“I could recognize that arse and those tits from anywhere,” he laughed. “Are you working tonight? Myself and some lads would like to book a delve in that famous cunt of yours later.” He, and now a few other guards nearby, laughed. Alessandria broiled but huffed and folded her arms under her breasts, hoping it’d prevent any more gropes. “And you,” he said turning to Sirina, “how do I know you’re a genuine Sister of Dibella? I hear they can suck the sins from out your cock and swallow them whole. A guaranteed send-off to Sovengarde with Shor’s blessing!”

“Hold out your hand,” Sirina told the guard. The guard proudly put his hand forward for her while she rummaged in her pocket and fished out a golden coin. One side had a blooming lily on its face, and other depicted a woman from her waist upwards, her breasts bare and hair hanging down her shoulders, and she flashed both sides of the coin to the guard before placing it in his hand and closing his fingers over it. Her hand slid up to the guard’s wrist and pushed back the sleeve and gripped the exposed skin.

“For any future service,” she told him, staring him in the eyes through his steel helm. “Choke on it for me later.”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” another guard told her. “Go on before I change my mind.”

The guard stood looking at the coin in his hand as Sirina and Alessandria, scorns on their faces, walked past them.

The blacksmithing couple, whose shop and forge sat on the opposite side of the guard barracks and the gates of Whiterun, hammered their fresh steel on their anvil blocks, sweat pouring down their foreheads into the fiery heart of their forge. The man looked up and shot his glance back down to the forge when he recognized Alessandria. The guard barracks still teemed with recruits and veterans training them, the city’s might on display for any to see. Children still ran around in groups, playing with sticks and toys and reenacting the myths and legends they’d hear at night. Even much of the market was the same. Crowds still moved against each other, intent on getting their much-needed supplies or browsing for a deal. Alessandria kept a wary eye. She looked each face she saw and breathed easier each time it wasn’t a Redguard. Even the ex-soldier, Amren, a long-standing resident in Whiterun with a lovely wife and daughter, made her suck in a breath at his sight.

She couldn’t see it, but Sirina, who led them, was on her guard. It took but a glance for her to process someone’s face and remember it. It was a skill born of necessity. As the crowd became thicker, she reached back and locked hands with Alessandria. Many a Nord man stood taller than them, but they would not dare lose each other in the crowd, no matter Alessandria’s experience and history in the city.

On top of keeping lookout for Alik’r, Sirina searched the crowds for the old hag, the hag who’s rippling eyes looked into her future and spelled a doom that would come to her and Garmag. She looked at Alessandria and wondered just how involved she would be in the foretold events. She’d die by her hands, her and Garmag both. Somehow, the Daedra Princes would be involved too. What troubled her most of all was that first foretelling. The Redguard she’d supposedly have sex with: would it be one of the ones that attacked Alessandria, or… would it be _him_. Suddenly she looked back at the Whiterun gates, where Garmag stood waiting on the other side. Alessandria met her gaze and smiled at her, calming the nervous Nord woman.

At last they stood before The Bannered Mare. One of the front windows was shattered, having been covered up with several planks of wood. From outside, it sat quiet and still. They both stood at the base of the steps leading up to the inn for several moments. The crowds behind them flowed through the city. The inn’s wooden sign swung on its post, creaking lightly.

Alessandria was the first to take the steps up and pushed the door in. Sirina followed soon after.

The inn had died. Only a few patrons were there at all, noticeably less than on even the slowest days. The hearth smoldered at a low heat. The windows, along with all the candles on the walls on tables, did a better job at lighting the common room. Olfina, at the bar counter on the right side of the room, lifted her head at the familiar face and ran to the two women once she realized who they were.

“Alessa!” Olfina hugged her and held her arms as she looked at her in tears. “I thought you were kidnapped or dead! By the Eight, what happened?”

Alessandria told Olfina what happened, despite the pain that retelling the events held for her, and thanked Sirina and Garmag for saving and caring for her. The two hugged and cried together at a table, and Olfina hugged Sirina and thanked her profusely for her role in saving Alessandria.

“I haven’t seen Saadia in two days, since the other morning. Have you?”

“No, I haven’t seen her. Gods, do you think they already have her?”

“I don’t know. It’s been two days since I’ve seen her. Perhaps Hulda knows. Do you know where she is? I need to speak to her regardless.”

Olfina’s eyes shook and her voice wavered. “Hulda...” She cleared her throat and breathed. “A lot happened after you went upstairs with that brute, Alessa. Yesterday after the Redguards came back downstairs, they tore the place apart, they were screaming at Hulda and the rest of us. I didn’t know what they were after then. Wherever Saadia was, or is, at least she wasn’t here. They clashed blades with that Nord, Sinmir, and left him a bloody mess. Then one of them,” she swallowed back her cry as she continued, “one of them punched Hulda right on the chest. I couldn’t understand why, they were speaking some language I’d never heard, some angry rant at her. Then the guards came and they ran out of the inn. Gods, Alessa, it was horrible.”

Alessandria sat stunned at these events. “Hulda, is she all right?”

Olfina shook her head and shut her eyes. “No, she’s not all right. We took her to the Temple of Kynareth. Danica Pure-Spring herself tended to her, but with the war and the sick and injured refugees, on top of her other duties… Hulda didn’t last the night.”

Alessandria’s heart wrenched inside her chest, and Sirina looked at her sympathetically. “Alessandria,” she said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s more,” Olfina said. Her voice became sharper. “They kidnapped Ysolda, that merchant girl that’d come in a lot. I didn’t see it, by that point I hid behind the counter, but some of the other girls said they saw one of the Redguard grab Ysolda on their way out. Said she went limp as soon as they touched her.” She sighed and balled her hand tight. “How dare they, Alessa. How dare they come here and upend our lives!” She slammed her fist on the table, causing the few patrons to spin their heads at the hostility. “I hear the guards caught one of the bastards. If they get any information out of him, I hope they act on it soon. For Ysolda’s sake. For Hulda.”

Alessandria knew Ysolda. A young aspiring merchant who dealt with the khajeet caravans, she was one of the few who regularly visited their tent outside the city when they’d arrive. To most, the khajeet were cat-people, but Ysolda regarded them as equals. She was also a pretty woman. Hulda had offered to give her a room at The Bannered Mare, but Ysolda was more keen on buying it from Hulda instead. Most of the workers of The Bannered Mare liked her well enough, she had a vision to take the inn forward and a caring heart, but Hulda never felt like passing the torch and enjoy the years she had left.

Now she was gone.

“Talos, curse them all,” Olfina spit.

“Careful with where you say that,” Sirina said. She could feel watchful eyes at her back.

“Be careful, Olfina, please,” Alessandria added. She wiped her eyes and nose. “Thank you, though, for letting me know what had happened, Olfina.”

She stood up and looked out to the mezzanine still standing far over the opposite side of the common room. It didn’t look like anyone occupied it at the moment, and she hoped to never step foot in it again. A pool of blood was stained on the underside of the wooden floor.

“Alessa,” Olfina whispered. “I wish I could’ve done something you know that, right?” Olfina held her arm and struggled to keep eye contact with Alessandria. “I talk about strength and pride, but I couldn’t even muster the courage to –”

Alessandria tip-toed to kiss Olfina on the forehead, cutting her words short. “It’s okay, Olfina. I understand.” She walked to her room with Sirina following her, leaving Olfina to silently weep in the common room.

The door to her room opened slowly. Despite nothing having been touched, it felt owned by someone else. The water was changed in the basin, all her things were where she left them, yet the room was foreign, practically unrecognizable. Alessandria walked to her vanity and picked up the small ceramic jar that she had filled by Hulda personally each day and with a finger lightly rubbed the lid on it in thought.

“Alessandria,” Sirina called from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Alessandria had her back turned to her for a long moment, then looked back at the priestess with wavering eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t believe I am.” Her hands trembled as she opened the jar for a drink, but Sirina rushed to her side.

“Here, let me hold that for you.” She took the elixir from Alessandria’s hands and sat her down on the bed. “What’s on your mind, Alessandria?”

The young girl confided to Sirina why she sought to come back to Whiterun, to ask Hulda about why she was given up, if she knew what would happen, and what it meant. A possible betrayal from someone she thought family.

“She sheltered me, clothed me, took me in when I was just some girl a long way from home. Then she gave me up and didn’t care what’d happen. Can you imagine, Sirina, having men force themselves into you and die and feel their life fade away with their cocks still inside you? She had to have known he’d rape me. Not even try, but do. I could see it on his mind the minute he looked at me. They all had that same look.” Sirina put down the ceramic jar and wrapped her arms around the crying girl and ran her hands down through her hair and held her close to her chest.

“I can’t say I know the answer to that question, Alessandria, but I’m here for you. I’ll protect you, Garmag and I will protect you. With time, I can even show you how to protect yourself too, so you won’t have to depend on anyone again.”

Alessandria broke down and slumped into Sirina’s arms and cried and held her tight. “Why,” she cried, “why would you do that for me?”

“I was a lot like you once,” she replied. She remembered her own experience in a brothel in High Rock a little less than seven years prior. The men and women who sought her out. The way they died flashed in her mind. She cupped Alessandria’s face in her hands and told her, “I will _always_ be here for you, Alessandria. We’ll get away from this damned city together.” Alessandria buried her head in her shoulder and wept more.

The vanity reflected the two of them back at Sirina and to what she had just promised to do. She thought of the hag’s fortune, the Redguard somewhere in Whiterun Hold, she looked at Alessandria in the mirror of the vanity, and she looked at the ceramic jar sitting at her feet, its lid still sitting on its rim unmoved. With her foot closest to it, she careful nudged it under the bed they sat on.

Sirina held the crying Imperial closer and kissed the girl’s crown and continued to stroke her hair gently.


	3. The Crack of A Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessandria wraps up her time at The Bannered Mare and says goodbye to Olfina, but feels compelled to confront the Alik'r that attacked her and rescue Ysolda, much to the surprise of Sirina. Sirina, meanwhile, shows that she could be deadly to the wrong person and has more capability than once thought. The group meet Dro'tesh, a khajiit who volunteers to help them on their rescue party.

* * *

**~oXo~**

The scent of wood filled the Breton’s nose as she gripped the end of the small square table. Newly purchased just shy of a week ago, it had the infatuating aroma of pine still within it. It was sturdy, the legs were even, the edges were rounded. It was a good, solid table. Expensive.

She wiped her brow, licked her hand several times, and reached back to jerk a dark-haired Nord’s cock back and forth. He moaned and took a clump of her brown hair in his hand with a wide grin.

Spitting on her arse, he rubbed his saliva down and around the girl’s cunt, which he found unsatisfactorily dry. He grabbed her waist with one hand and yanked back hard on her scalp with the other.

She sharply inhaled. He moaned softly.

He fucked her hard, making sure every last centimeter of his veiny cock slid into her before pulling back and ramming himself back in. Their flesh, his thighs against her arse and his groin against hers, clapped against each other, a distinct and audible sound clearer than the rest of the noise from their act.

The table scraped back and forth on the wooden floor and banged against the wall with each thrust.

“Yes!” she’d cry out. “Yes, more! Agh! Gods, give it me!” she’d scream as she’d lean back into him.

Being inside a woman was all that he lived for. Feeling them tense their cunts around his cock, their silky smooth and clean skin, the tenderness of a ripe arse he could squeeze and fuck.

It was worth the five septims. A steep price, but worth it all the same. At The Bannered Mare, you could cum in the girls and boys and not have to pay a septim more. Get it up before the hour’s done, and you could do it again, and again, and again.

He always took advantage of that when his travels lead to Whiterun.

The Breton’s breasts shook violently as he pulled her head further back. She had to put her arms down on the table to support herself at the angle he bent her, her elbows straighter than the support beams of the inn. Her head felt like it was on fire.

The hour couldn’t pass slower. In her head, she counted: fourteen minutes, twenty six seconds.

Twenty seven.

Twenty eight.

A shrill scream came out of her, desperate, she pleaded, “Fuck me, fuck me harder! Please!”

The Nord laughed, content with the way he made her squirm and beg for more. That familiar squeeze of silky and textured flesh, the reason why he chased after coin, tightened around his cock.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and came in her with a final few thrusts, pulling her in close and pushing himself deeper with the last spurts he had.

He smiled, let the girl go, and pulled out, smiling at the drops that trickled out of her.

Sweaty, tired, and panting for breath, the Breton girl collapsed on the table, the table’s wooden scent creeping into her nose again. She felt his warm gunk ooze out of her onto the floor. A shiver ran through her as the thought of drinking from the ceramic jar. The elixer was running out. It always tasted worse as it neared empty, grittier, spongy.

**~oXo~**

* * *

The Nord laced up his pants and poured himself ale from a nearby ewer, chugging it down and pouring more. He then laughed and laid five septims on the tired girl’s back.

“For services well-rendered,” he told her, smacking her arse once more before leaving.

“Yeah,” Liria muttered in between gasps of air, “Fuck you too.” A wet _schloop_ _!_ Was made as she peeled her sweat-laden skin away from the table and the coins slid off her back and clinked and spun on the floor. “Bastard didn’t even finish me off.”

There were five septims she picked up, only one of which she’d keep for herself were Hulda still alive.

The cloudy water of the iron basin by her door was due for changing soon, yet would likely be done only the next day or if she did it herself. She grabbed a towel that hung off its base and dipped it into the watered-down mix of sweat, soap, and sperm, wringing out the excess and wiping in between her legs. His remains floated in the basin, sailors looking for land amongst millions of others. She sighed.

The week had been slow for her, with only five people having hired her so far. It was already Turdas, and the dues for that damned elixir was more than she earned alone. With the scuffle in the common room yesterday, less people came in to the inn that morning, and even less were interested in her.

Certainly she’d have to dip in to her savings to pay the week’s dues, but with Hulda now gone, she wondered if dues were even going to be collected from everybody anymore. Only five out of the nine mares and stallions remained at The Bannered Mare, with Alessandria and Saadia having run off somewhere, poor Jenet still not having recovered, Thretta leaving earlier that morning, and Criek having quit last night. She sat down at her vanity dresser with a groan and brushed her hair, unknotting it and massaging her scalp. It ached fiercely.

Nine people still stayed. Her mirror, though a bit murky, showed her that a ball was forming on her collarbone; no doubt it was from when an Imperial soldier gripped her by the shoulders the day prior.

_Thalmor-kneeling bastards._

A crude outline of a rearing horse was painted in black on the deep brown ceramic jar that sat on her vanity. She stared at it for some time, tapping her finger down on her desk before picking it up and looking inside. Hardly any was left and the soot at the bottom shone against the light. A few sips could be bearable if she drank less than usual, but she dismissed the idea of it and brought the jar to her lips.

The bitter taste of the elixir was curdling. Particles of crushed herbs, minerals, and other sediment rubbed against her tongue on their way down her throat, the nauseating dregs that she seldom, thankfully, ever reached.

She coughed after forcing it all down.

In the next room over, Olfina looked herself in the mirror holding a dress over the robe she wore. “Sounds like Liria’s done,” she told her companions as she lined up the shoulders with hers. The dress went just above her knees and its green skirt complimented her eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked Alessandria.

“Positive. We’re roughly the same size and shape too, so you don’t even need to take it to the tailor’s.”

Olfina ran her hand over the white bodice, then the light green skirt. The frilled short-sleeves had Nordic embroideries on them in white.

“Would you mind if I tried this one on really fast?” she asked with a grin.

“Do with them what you want. They’re all yours.”

Olfina smiled and slipped off the short robe she wore, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor, revealing her beautifully smooth and curvy body. Sirina was stunned. She wondered if the rest of the Grey-Mane clan had similarly blessed figures, and if Olfina herself would pass it on to her children.

“What do you think?” Olfina asked after flattening the flounced skirt. She gave a small twirl, letting the ends of the decollete dress flutter around her. The sweetheart-styled dress was cut deep compared to many of the gowns usually worn by Whiterun women. Her fingers, when arms straight at her side, ended much lower than the dress did. The Jarl’s wife certainly wouldn’t wear such an outfit were she alive, much less many of the other nobles in Skyrim.

“It looks beautiful,” Sirina muttered.

Alessandria agreed, her eyes alight and her hands together under chin. “How does it feel?”

“Very soft,” Olfina replied, pulling up on the bust. “Though the chest is a little tight.” Her heavy breasts shook in the thin fabric with each adjustment she made. They looked like they’d spill out of the dress if she wasn’t careful, jiggling with each step she took. “Does it look tight?”

Alessandria laughed. “Your tits are just big, Olfina. Maybe that part could use some adjustment, but I’m sure Jon would love it. The color goes very well with your eyes.”

Olfina looked herself in the mirror, posing from different sides and angles and admiring how the dress looked on her. The smile across her face widened the more she looked at herself. “I know he would,” Olfina giggled. She thanked Alessandria for the parting gifts, and after a moment, she stepped towards friend and took her hands in her own. “Alessa,” she said. “I’ll be leaving soon as well, with Jon. He agrees it isn’t safe in Whiterun anymore and we’ll be leaving the city tomorrow morning. Just me and him.”

Alessandria’s heart warmed and her smile matched Olfina’s in size. “Olfina, that’s wonderful news! But what about your families? Have you told them?”

“If I’m leaving life as a Mare, Father will undoubtedly support what I do next. Truthfully, he and the family have wanted me to make my own way differently for a long while now. As for the Battle-Born, well, you’ve seen how they are, but Jon promised me he’d leave them behind even if they don’t support our decision. We’re actually leaving this time, Alessa. Jon promised.”

Alessandria hugged the white-haired Nord tightly, her excitement at a new height. “I’m so happy for you both!”

Sirina stood back and did her best to hide the quiver in her eyes. Too often did she see families and couples torn apart by the war. It was seldom that she’d witness the beginning stages of a life-long journey of union before her very eyes.

“Congratulations, Olfina,” Sirina now called. “Are children something you plan on having with Jon one day?”

Olfina looked at her unprepared for such a question, and even Alessandria grew tense at the question. She stammered and brushed her hair nervously. “I love him, but we’re not even married, and I’m far too young for children. Truthfully we both are, really.”

Sirina laughed and rubbed the back of her head. “I suppose I could have worded that differently. I meant that I could bless you both with fertility, for the future, if you desire it. You may not think it now, but you’d be surprised by how many couples can’t bear children, young and old. It may come to be useful should you ever change your mind one day.”

Olfina considered it for a moment, but felt herself still too young and naive for children, despite her own mother having a child at a younger age than her. Like most younger couples, she and Jon had fondly imagined what their children together would look like, whether they’d have Jon’s eyes, his chin, or his sense of honor, or if they’d have Olfina’s lips, her square jaw, or her damning urge for independence. Nonetheless, having a child was too far off into the future for her, especially with the war going on.

Sirina searched her pockets and took out a few coins. Olfina chuckled at the imprint on the back when she was given them.

“Take these,” Sirina said, “if you ever come across an agent of Lady Dibella, and should you ever change your mind, give them one of these coins to receive such a blessing. Should you give the other to an agent of Mara, they will marry you and Jon at a time and place of your choosing. You won’t need to fiddle about with amulets, guests, or other indulgences to the temple.”

The Grey-Mane woman toyed with the coins in her hand and smiled, contemplating fate that brought her a wonderful man like Jon. In a time when their two families couldn’t be further apart, the suitable sets of circumstances that enabled them to be together made her wonder if it was the will of the Divines. With the second coin, she had the power to propose to him, no doubt shaking him off his feet, and marry him that same day.

“Thank you, Sirina,” she told her fellow Nord. “What’s the third coin for?”

The Dibellan priestess shyly slid her way to Olfina, gliding over the air as if held up by her goddess. She suddenly took on a new form, an unrecognizable yet stunning light of radiance and love. Her soft hand reached out and delicately brushed Olfina’s silver bangs behind her ear, cupped her cheek, then gently slid down the Nord woman’s square jaw. “The third coin can be used the same as the others – it's physically the same as the others, after all. This one, however, is considered a Mark, my Mark for you, Olfina Grey-Mane. Normally I give them to people whom I have sex with in the name of Dibella, but I give this to you for a different reason altogether.”

Gazing into Olfina’s eyes with the open sincerity that may be only be seen through desperate confession or intense love, she continued, “That reason is for making me wish I could be you. You who are beauty, grace, and potential all in one body and spirit. If I could be anyone in the world… If I could go back… ” Her voice trailed off, and a once comforting smile flickered as a candle amid a storm would. She was once again Sirina, Sister of Dibella. “Dibella no doubt looks on you with favor.”

Olfina froze in that moment and sniffled in the next. “Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her eye. Standing up higher on her toes, Sirina planted a gentle kiss on Olfina’s forehead.

The scene made Alessandria swallow a heavy lump in her throat. She couldn’t tell if it was because she herself was touched by the words Sirina weaved or if it was jealousy for not being the one receiving them. On her own forehead did she feel Sirina’s lips when they were placed on Olfina, and her own eyes watered with the memory of that morning. She clutched the end of her tunic tightly and forced a neutral face as she tried not to stare at the two women sharing a tender moment.

_Olfina Grey-Mane._

A flash of thought, hardly a split of a second long, crossed her mind and she realized that though she was often held in esteem by Hulda, it was Olfina who spent spent more time waiting tables than waiting to get stuffed with cocks by the hour. It was Olfina who was among those who watched her get carted off by the Redguard and did nothing to stop it. It was Olfina who was now being whisked away to a lovely life with a lovely future and a new life of her own, away from The Bannered Mare.

Her very name alone carried power.

_Grey-Mane._

She may have worked as a Mare voluntarily to make a living on her own, separate from her family influence, but she was still in Whiterun. Everyone still knew who she was. Her family were always close-by if she needed them. Whenever they came in, she’d be allowed to sit with them for an extended period of time while the rest either worked in the kitchen or worked to undress. She’d even go away on her “secret” outings with Jon during her shift, something Hulda wouldn’t tolerate with anyone else except for

Olfina Grey-Mane.

Nothing would happen to the only precious daughter of Eorlund Grey-Mane, to the heiress of the esteemed Clan Grey-Mane, to the beautiful and splendid and wonderfully beloved Olfina, unless –

“Alessa, are you okay?”

Her eyes sought the familiar voice and found Olfina, wonderful Olfina, standing in front of her, curious as to the engulfing thought on her friend’s mind. Alessandria’s mind cleared instantly, the idea in her head now a brief cloud blown away from under the sun. “Yes,” she replied, stammering. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” Her eyes met the Sirina’s green emerald eyes and she took comfort in her presence. “Listen, I want to give you something else.”

Peering out into the hall, she saw that it was quiet and unattended. Liria had fallen asleep in her room, having given up for the day. She shut the door to the room tight and motioned everyone to speak quietly. She took out several things from a drawer in her vanity: a sheet of paper, a quill, an inkwell, and a small stick of wax.

Alessandria studied the sheet and its contents for a moment, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and wrote on the paper, signing the final line at the bottom with her name. She then turned to Olfina and passed her the quill and paper.

Olfina’s smile pursed as she read each line, and her eyes suddenly widened with understanding. She sat down on the bed next to the other eleven dresses Alessandria gave her and read the letter once again. Sirina sat beside her and read along.

Silently and suddenly, Olfina yelled, “Alessa, you can’t be serious!” Sirina herself brushed her hair out of her eyes just to make sure she was reading the letter correctly.

Alessandria nodded. “It’s all yours. All 768 septims.” She took the letter, folded it, and sealed it with a stamp she had in her vanity depicting the rearing horse of the inn. “One more thing, since I wouldn’t be able to carry it anyways.” Alessandria turned to her six-drawer dresser and carefully pulled out the bottom left-most drawer box.

Dropping it on the bed, she removed an assortment of underwear, lingerie, and various other undergarments until she found the thumb hole along one of the box’s bottom edges. She pulled out the panel to reveal a small pouch that plinked and jingled when lifted out of its receptacle.

Sirina laughed in amazement, prompting Alessandria to quickly shush her. She opened the pouch for Olfina who reached in, gasping upon realizing what she was feeling, and pulled out a fist-full of golden amulets, silver jewel-studded rings, and smoothed precious gems. Sirina reached in and pulled out a golden hair pin lined with blue sapphires.

Olfina struggled to contain her giddy laughter. “You made all this in a little over a year?”

A larger, though empty, burlap bag was fished out from the taller dresser where the dresses had hung. “Well, I’d actually have more, but I did buy all those dresses with my own money.” She started stuffing the pouches with some of her underwear to keep them from clanking against each other, then put them in the large burlap bag together. “I hope you don’t mind,” she laughed. Olfina raised her brow playfully. “They’re clean!”

“How did you get all this?” Sirina asked. With the jewelry, clothing, and stones alone, it easily surpassed what she herself had once accumulated in three years’ work, though her dusty little hovel town had piss-all for common wealth.

“Being a Mare for Whiterun,” she said, tying the bag closed tight. “A pretty popular one at that. The merchants tip nice if you work them the right way, as do the nobles. Parties were where I got most of it, though.” Olfina almost tipped over when she took the large bag into her grasp unprepared. “And now it’s all yours.”

“Alessa,” Olfina whispered. “I can’t thank you enough.”

With a small smile, Alessandria replied, “Consider it a wedding gift for my… my older sister.”

Olfina hugged her tight, then pulled in Sirina to join in the hug. “Thank you both so much. I’ll remember this day into Sovengarde.” None of them were sure if it’d be enough to buy a house in the any of the Holds’ capitals, but it would likely pay for a plot of land and a basic construction to be built at the least if one were available.

Nevertheless, Alessandria was excited for Olfina, and looked forward to the day that she’d visit House Grey-Born, or Battle-Mane, or Grey-Battle-Mane-Borne, and see her dear friend again. Perhaps on that day, little Jons with Olfina’s little nose, or small Olfina’s with Jon’s eyes, would run around and look up at her and call her “Auntie Alessa” and ask to be read from one of the books she’d have gifted them.

Perhaps one day.

  
  


After Alessandria packed some clothing and a few books into a small backpack, she wrote a letter for the other men and women she worked with in her short time at The Bannered Mare. Stags and Mares for the inn, she wished them all well in what they’d do next, whether or not they’d stay at the inn or leave like the rest have. Time would bring her across their paths again, she wrote, yet her memories of them all would stand its test. Reading the letter again, she wondered if she wrote them all too sentimentally.

She wrote a personal one for Olfina, and handed it to her to read if she ever needed a familiar voice.

Sirina interlinked her arms with the women standing at either side of her as they stood at the door to The Bannered Mare together, and together they walked out and down the stone steps, feeling lighter as they touched down at the base of the staircase. The women said their goodbyes, hugged one another once more, then parted ways, Olfina heading home and Sirina and Alessandria walking towards the front gate.

The streets of Whiterun were quaint and peaceful, and the citizens smiled at the women passing by. The blacksmiths were hard at work, and a merchant chopped wood outside his store. As they neared the city’s gate, the Redguard still out there lingered within Alessandria’s mind, as did the thought of Saadia hiding somewhere out in Skyrim, and most importantly did Ysolda, still harbored captive among her kidnappers. A guard was rushed on a stretcher from the gate towards the Temple of Kynareth, silently gagging and clawing at his throat. He reached a wretched hand out to the women that was carried off into the city.

Drillings, shouts, and the sound of practice steel clashing could be heard coming from the training yards beside the barracks. The city’s finest were in short supply despite the Hold’s neutral stance in the war. It was evident that the Jarl was preparing for something, whether it’d be a march on the city from either side or even a riot from the growing town of refugees festering outside the city’s walls.

A crack of a whip could be heard far away in the distance, an echo carried in the wind, implanting an idea in Alessandria’s head.

Sirina called out to her as she wandered into the barracks. Several tables and chairs were strewn about, lit by a scant number of candles on the walls, their wax low and their wicks thin. A musk was in the room, lingering and suffocating. Weapon racks were bolted into the walls and lined with an array of swords, shields, and bows alike. “Where’s your commander,” Alessandria exclaimed to the room full of guards.

One of them, too focused on slurping his soup to look up, pointed in the direction to another room, and continued eating. Sirina caught up behind her. “Alessandria,” she protested, “we shouldn’t be here,” but was ignored.

Some guards cared enough to look up, some were maintaining their equipment, while others talked to their comrades unfettered. Alessandria stepped into a smaller room to the right, obviously a personal office. The commander’s bare arse greeted her as she knocked on the door and opened.

The commander looked over at the two women watching as the door opened. He recognized the Imperial, being a common enough client for her, and yelled, “Get in and close that fucking door!” He turned his attention back to the Nord women laying on his desk, her trousers on the floor and her legs in the air. She held her shirt up over her breasts for him to see, hypnotizing him with their sway. The woman blushed at their new audience and groaned. The guard captain muttered to her.

Alessandria leaned against the wall and waited, but Sirina pulled at her sleeve. “What are we doing here, Alessandria? Let’s go!”

“We have to do something,” was all that the Imperial woman replied with. When pressed further, she stood quiet and watched the scene in front of her intently, waiting for it to finish. Sirina eventually relented and stood to watch alongside her companion.

The guard captain grabbed the woman’s waist and her breasts, and he fucked her harder and groaned with a final thrust. He squeezed and kissed one of her breasts as he pulled out his cock and pulled up his trousers, leaving her to put hers back on herself.

“Sir,” she whispered, avoiding looking in the direction of the two women by the door, ”My discharge papers.”

He drank from a bottle of mead that sat undisturbed on the desk chair. “Yes, yes, I’ll go find you. First let me deal with these two.” The woman interjected, but he rebutted, grabbing his groin. “Do you really want to stay around longer, Kari? I’d love to have you here, but I don’t know if that son of yours at home can wait around much longer.”

The girl stammered but the commander kicked her out. The woman, stunned, ceded and passed the two woman on her way out of the office, her eyes glued to the floor as her cheeks turned a bright shade of red. She cursed under her breath in words Alessandria couldn’t understand.

“What do you want?” he asked, tying his trousers securly closed.

“Are you aware that the Redguard from yesterday’s attack kidnapped a merchant woman, Ysolda?” she exclaimed in a huff, crossing her arms under her breasts. The sharp tone wasn’t what Sirina was expecting from the girl she held crying in her arms just over an hour ago. The question she posed to the captain was also unexpected.

The captain stroked his beard and gave a single dry laugh for her bluntness. “Listen you cunt, I am captain of the guard and will be addressed as such. And yes, I’m aware. We have one them in the jail!” he took another drink of his mead. “I’ve dispatched a few guards to where our imprisoned Alik’r pointed as the location of their hideout. Is that all you wanted to know or did you just miss a good fuck from one of your own people?”

Alessandria spit, prompting Sirina to call her more sternly. “How many men did you send, Caius? You don’t look like you’ve taken it seriously,” Alessandria said accusingly. A woman’s life was at stake, possibly two if they had Saadia too. If they visited the other towns in the hold on their way to Whiterun, possibly even more. Who knows how many Redguard actually came to Skyrim. If each of them were like the one that raped her…

“I’ve sent three, more than enough to take care of the rest from what our prisoner has told me. Nords are hardy, and have a fight in them worth at least two Redguard.”

Now Alessandria scoffed. “That’s why Skyrim knelt to the Thalmor and Hammerfell is free. You’ve sent those men to die, Caius. Where did you send them?” The commander bellowed and waved her away, taking more drinks of his mead.

“Alessandria, what are we even going to do with that information!”

“Not now!”

Sirina stood silent for a moment in disbelief. Now she was being scorned as well. “Alessa, stop!” But she was too slow.

Caius was spun around and pushed against the wall, spilling his drink. His face full of anger turned to a wry smile as Alessandria put her hand over the bulge in his trousers and squeezed lightly. “Tell me where you sent those guards,” she whispered. “Tell me, and I’ll give you the best fuck you’ve ever had in your long and heartless life. I’m sure you’ve still got some life in that old cock for me.” She squeezed the bulge in his pants, bringing a small groan from Cauis.

A moment passed where a familiar energy put Sirina on notice. Her fingers twitched and her heart quickened in pace. A small bead of sweat trickled down from her brow and down the scar on her cheek.

“You sure you want to make this kind of deal, lass?” Cauis stepped off the wall and snatched the girl’s wrist, causing her to back away, but his grip tightened and she let out a small yell. He chuckled, and slammed her into the wall hard enough to spur Sirina to action. Alessandria’s breath became shorter and she looked for a way out, but his arms held her firmly pinned to the wall. His breath smelled of ale and meat. “You should’ve listened to your friend here when you had the chance.” He began to slowly close his hands around her face when Sirina grabbed his wrist.

The force of her grip surprised him.

“Get your hands off her,” she commanded. “Let her go and we’ll leave in peace.” Her eyes were steel-laden and her voice unrecognizable. The stance she took on was combative, and her red hair seemed more akin to flame.

Caius turned his attention to the Nord woman and let Alessandria go. “Mmm,” he muttered. “No, I think I’ll go with you instead. Nord women,” he laughed, “how’d you know?” He freed his arm from her grasp and pulled her in, stuffed his hand under her shirt and grabbed her large breasts, kneading each individually in his hand. He moaned lightly when he felt that one hand wasn’t enough to hold them. “Yes, you’ll do quite nice.” Alessandria was frozen. Her head and wrist hurt, yet she didn’t move.

The sharp point of a dagger was suddenly pressed under Cauis’ chin, pulled out from the back of Sirina’s waist. “Don’t make me kill you, you ugly fuck” she spat.

Caius laughed dryly and let her go. “That’s _Captain_ Ugly-Fuck to you. What do you think will happen if you do, eh? Guards right outside. You won’t make it out of here alive.”

Sirina kept her dagger poised under the captain’s chin, going further as to push it closer, forcing him to move his head bzck and to slowly back away from her. “And yet you’ll still die.”

Cauis laughed. “Nords: Hardy, fierce, sexier than any right to be.” He slowly walked to his desk, looking them both up and down, then pulled out a map of Whiterun Hold from one of the drawers. “How else could they have survived up in this frozen waste?” Sirina rushed to Alessandria and checked her over.

“You stupid girl,” she told her, holding her face delicately in her hand. “Don’t tell me that’s what you’ve always done when you don’t get your way. How did you manage to get all the way over here and live as long as you have?” Alessandria looked away from her, hurt, as Sirina took her hand and turned back to the captain, dagger in hand at the ready.

The captain ran his finger along the map, following the roads West over the tundra until his finger found the spot he cut into earlier. “Here, in a cave we call Swindler’s Den. Used to be a poacher’s hovel till the Alik’r showed up, according to my source,” he said, tapping on the spot. “That’s where I sent my guards.”

He turned the map towards them and let them approach to study it. Swindler’s Den laid almost in the middle of Whiterun’s tundra, past Fort Greymour and the lone sentinel, the Western Watchtower.

It’d be a journey of several hours at least, almost half the day. Once the map was committed to memory, Sirina pulled Alessandria with her outside in a rush.

The invisible hand left both their throats as they stepped outside and their breathing became a little deeper.

From the door to the barracks, Caius watched the two women leave out of the gates of Whiterun, smiling and waiving at them.

Garmag the Orc grimaced underneath his canvas bag. No stench came close to the putrid mix of horse dung and unwashed refugees. The stares he received from the stablehands annoyed him, as did an attempt by a group of rag-dressed Nords to forcibly steal a horse.

They brandished clubs and grip-less knives for weapons. They broke a stableboy’s hand. They demanded a horse or there’d be “further trouble.”

It only took one of them being cleaved by his greatsword to send the rest running.

The stableboy thanked him, but awkwardly walked off, clutching his hand, as the Orc’s only response was a low gutteral sound.

Garmag perked up as he heard the women near. Coming off the stable post he leaned on, he began to ready the horses for take off. The stablemaster gave him a scowl as he rejected a paltry septim from the cowled Orc. Gatmag pushed the coin into his hand. The body already began to stink.

Sirina said nothing when she saw it.

“Are we going to Swindler’s Den, then?” Alessandria finally asked.

Sirina looked at her incredulously, throwing her hands in the air. “What do you think will happen if we go, Alessa? Tell me, because based on what just went on in that room, I don’t believe you’ve truly thought it through.”

“We go to the cave and use your magic to convince the Redguard to give up Ysolda, and Saadia if they have her, and anybody else they have prisoner. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your magic proficiency. The way you’ve manipulated the guards yesterday, earlier too with the one at the gate. He was the one that was rushed past us earlier, wasn’t he?” Sirina glared at her, brows furrowed.

“I need to touch them for it to even possibly work. I’m not a mage, Alessa. They’ll attack and kill us with ease. One of them had paralysis spell yesterday, meaning it takes just one hit from that to render us useless. Even Garmag wouldn’t stand a chance against such a spell. It’s suicide.”

“If I can save at least one person from what these monsters can do, I’ll gladly do it – with or without your help!” Alessandria crossed her arms under her breasts and stormed westward, on the road through the refugee camp.

Sirina clenched her fists and yelled, “You child! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Yet she so desperately wanted to help her. Her motives were understandable, honorable even, yet she was nowhere near capable enough to entangle herself in such a conflict. _She really is going to get us killed, isn’t she?_

Garmag mounted his horse and brought Sirina hers. She thanked him, mounted Cinnamon, and stared at Alessandria as she got further away, cutting deeper through the refugee camp.

“Don’t like at me like that,” she told Garmag as she gently squeezed Cinnamon’s sides. She rode up to the girl and muttered, “Get on.”

Alessandria stared at her, attempting to not break her scowl. “Why should I?” All it took was for Sirina to touch her, and she’d be under her spell like Garmag surely was. How else could you keep a vicious old warrior like that under your thumb for half a year and not have any incidents?

Sirina reached out a hand to her and spoke in a gentle voice, flashing her big green eyes at her.

“We’ll go together.”

One look at Sirina made her worries, all her doubts, melt away. Her inviting smile and disarming eyes had her taking the Nord’s hand and jumping on the saddle behind her. Sirina’s magic capabilities would be revealed in due course, she thought.

From a lowly tent, a meditating khajiit called out to them. “Dro’tesh could not help but overhear your dispute. I hope you do not mind this one’s intrusion,” he told them.

The khajiit had dark brown stripes along his tan fur, and his square head was robust and his muzzle short. He stood up with an easy grace, surprising for how stocky he was, and he dwarfed the women easily, standing just under their noses. Sirina judged him to be under Garmag’s size, though not too far from it. He wore little more than common clothing, a grey tunic, brown ragged trousers, and a green coat made of woven linens. Both his ears had two earrings.

“If I understand, you go in search of Redguard, Alik’r warriors, correct?” Alessandria never laid eyes on such a strong-looking khajiit before, causing a delay in her response, but Sirina confirmed the question. “In that case, I volunteer my assistance, if you’d accept it,” he said bowing. His striped tail lazily swayed behind him as he spoke.

“We need someone useful in battle, should it come to such a necessity.” Sirina stated. “What such prowess do you possess, Dro’tesh?”

The khajiit smiled and bid them off the road eagerly. Before he started, he told them, “I am skilled in one of the many Claw-Dances of my people, _Vrin-Thak_ , or as you may know it, the Goutfang.” Alessandria’s eyes and mouth widened and she grew excited for the display she once only read about.

Dro’tesh readied his stance, took a deep breath in, and begun a display of his Claw Dance. His movements were swift and graceful but lacked fluidity and reason. As he threw his final punch, the hair on the women shifted. Alessandria gasped and Sirina smirked.

The khajiit bowed, prompting claps from Sirina, Alessandria, and even Garmag.

“Do you think he could prove a match for you, Gar?” The Orc guttered a sound in his throat at the Nord woman.

“Come with us, Dro’tesh,” Alessandria said. “I can’t promise payment, or truly any monetary compensation, but gratitude from us and from any you help save is certain to be yours.”

Dro’tesh laughed. “Payment is not needed from you, only make Dro’tesh a small but crucial promise, assurance of the spoils of our victory.”

Alessandria agreed but Sirina was more skeptical to the intents of such a promise. “Let’s just see if we’d even need your services, first, Dro’tesh,” Sirina concluded. She trotted off with Alessandria.

“Welcome to the team!” Alessandria yelled back to the khajiit as he climbed aboard Garmag’s horse.

“You have a lovely smell,” he told the great Orc, who growled in response.

  
  


The chilling wind wafted through Whiterun hold from the Sea of Ghosts far up North as the party ventured West. For several hours they drifted across the tundra, against the cold that left needles on their skin, wrapped in layers of fur. The surrounding mountains silently watched over the valley as fresh now settled on their highest peaks, filling all the crevices in the rock with snow. Distant ruins of ancient Nordic towns grew further buried in soil and snow as the day pressed on, their secrets all but speculation and fantasy. Herds of elk flew over the billowing tall grasses and mudcrabs dug themselves into mudbanks as brooks and streams cascaded over rock into ponds.

Far away, the giants herded their mammoths across the plains, wary of any that approached. Even the sabrecats had learned to stay away from the herds by now.

Alessandria studied an old restoration tome that Sirina gave her. “If you can’t fight, you should know how to heal yourself, at least,” she told her. Time had worn the book’s binding, and its cover was cracked and faded.

The author of the tome was long dead, yet the curves, the lines, the mistakes penned onto the thick pages were still bold and saturated with ink. Her hands would glow faintly and pulse and fade and she would tire, then she would repeat her practice.

Sirina looked out in the distance and watched the Sun on its journey behind the mountains of Skyrim to the West, her hair swept out of her face.

Her heart beat incrimently faster with every step Cinnamon took.

_Lady Dibella, all Nine Divines, please watch over our party._


	4. The Might of the Alik'r

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrive at the Swindler's Den to save Ysolda, but come under a challenge they underestimated entirely.

Sweat fell from the top of the Nord’s brow. Despite having lived in Whiterun all his life, the multiple-hour march across the Holds’s plains was unbearable in the thickly padded armor supplied by the city. Wearing the standard-issue closed-faced helm was not a consideration to him.

“I didn’t think you’d still be a whining milk-drinker all this time after enlistment, Volkthar. You can head back if a little walk is too much for you,” Bergritte snapped. She walked coolly yet with conviction. She knew Volkthar to be squawker, but his complaints were never as loud or frequent as now. It made her weary just listening to them all, try as she might to ignore him.

“He’d probably complain aloud the whole way back just to hear his own voice,” Olren joined. He swung his iron warhammer on and off his shoulder. It had thirteen notches carved onto the side of the head and a small chip on the corner of the flat end. He didn’t volunteer for the assignment, but he never faced a Redguard in battle before.

“You two might be comfortable with this, but you can’t deny Caius has grown more careless than before. Did you hear how he ‘questioned’ that prisoner?” Normally prisoners would be taken to another part of the dungeons for interrogation, away from the rest of the caged slumps. For various reasons of his own, Caius opted for a different strategy that time. Word went around quick once it began. Some of the guards stationed there, close enough to hear the screams, had resigned shortly after it ended.

“Shut it,” Bergritte spat. “Caius is a busy man. If you haven’t noticed, he’ll soon have two cities to juggle all of us around in. The Jarl hasn’t helped drain those shanties growing outside the walls, nor adequately gather more soldiers for the Hold.”

Now Olren huffed at her. In his deep voice, he uttered, “Please, even you can admit that Caius has changed for the worse. He’s slouching. He’s grown old. All he does is sit in his room with more mead in him than the Mare, fucking the recruits who take his threats and promises seriously, giving us assignments like we’re drones in an ant colony. He doesn’t even wear his sword out in public anymore. All Imperials age into mindless, toothless bureaucrats, even the warriors.”

“Wow. ‘Bureaucrats,’ ‘ant colonies,’ I couldn’t expect such ideas from you, Olren,” she mocked.

With a smirk, he said, “I’ve been reading as of late.”

“Tell us, wised one, what happens to the Imperial merchant or farmer? Do they turn into lazy bureaucrats too?”

“They get slapped around by their Thalmor overlords. They did it to the Imperial City and they’ll continue doing it until we get a Septim with balls bigger than a mammoth’s,” he said with a laugh. Bergritte shook her head silently, but Volkthar laughed with him.

Squirming his way beside the large Nord, Volkthar trickled a wavering question into Olrem’s ear, “You think she defends him because she’s right or because of that… meeting they had the other week?” Olrem grimly stayed quiet while Volkthar giggled silently at his own question. Olrem hadn’t known the Nord woman for long, but he learned quick that she was not warmly receptive to venereal gossip about her. In response, Bergritte broke formation and struck Volkthar over his head. He shouted and rubbed the area where she hit.

Olren weakly laughed, glancing at Bergritte for his own sake. “You’re lucky our gauntlets are only fur. Should’ve worn your helmet like you’re supposed to.”

“You cotton-brained idiot,” Bergritte said. “Nothing happened in that office, nor would I accept such advances from him! His negligence and abuses towards the regiment are worrisome, but when it comes to matter of the city, he puts his soul into his work. You’ve all heard the stories. He hunted that Forsworn detachment making raids on the far edge of the Hold.”

“Hunted them down to the last man within a week,” added Olren.

“Yes,” Volkthar now said, still rubbing his head, “but that was Old Caius, who marched with over twenty other soldiers alongside him. It’s just the three of us out here, far from any help. Frost trolls have come down from the mountains. The giants made pacts with farmers for their cattle. Packs of wolves no longer fear the caravans. Now we have warriors from Hammerfell causing havoc across the Hold. Face it, Caius has no edge. He’s purely decorative now.”

Bergritte grimaced and looked ahead, partly out of disinterest in continuing the conversation, and partly out of denial. Whispers circulated through the ranks. Murmurs of missing guards, sometimes found dead, other times in unrecognizable conditions, were passed around. Many would be found by the shanty camps outside the walls, stripped, and dumped in the rivers. There were never any witnesses, of course. In the smaller villages, a terrible scream would be heard late in the night, likely from a guard patrolling the perimeter or standing watch, and all that would be found to remember the occurrence was the trail of blood leading into the wilderness.

At times even the city’s denizens were attacked by the wild animals. She shuddered at the memory of discovering that girl from the inn, barely alive. No witnesses, no leads, no clues other than the shit-eating grins she’d feel under her skin as she walked away empty-handed.

They walked silently the rest of the way, and as the forlorn cave became visible in the distance, Volkthar donned his helmet with a silent huff. He tightened the strap of his shield around his arm and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. Bergritte had already drawn her sword and swung it slowly in the air, feeling for the weight in her hand in doing so.

Volkthar’s eyes met Bergritte’s and quivered. In her eyes he saw only a steely resolve that hid a fear he could not detect. As they neared the entrance, he glanced at her more and more until he made his thoughts known. “Bergritte,” he started. “Before we enter that accursed lair, I want you to know that,” he stammered, swallowing the ball in his throat. The Nord woman sighed, uneager for the coming confession. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I said back there, about that meeting you had with Caius.” She had half a mind to roll her eyes. Volkthar’s voice waivered and croaked.

“Truth is,” he continued, “I’ve always had a grudging respect for you. I wasn’t the strongest in our unit during basic training, far from it, but I thought I could at least beat you in a fight. I was wrong then, and I’d doubt I could beat you now. You don’t deserve to be here, but if anyone can take these Redguard head on, it’d be you.”

Begritte stopped in her place a few yards from their destination and glared at the crumbling soldier before her. The other two stopped with her, and Volkthar looked once again into her eyes for a sign of emotion, of understanding. Her eyes didn’t betray her as she looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words she felt appropriate for the situation they were in and said nothing at all in the end.

“Let’s add some more notches to that hammer of yours, eh, Olrem,” he then said to the burly Nord. Olrem twirled the hammer in his hands in response and grinned underneath his helm.

“Shield wall formation, men,” Bergritte said after a moment. “Eyes open.” 

She raised her shield painted with the banner of Whiterun, a stallion upon the golden plains, in front of her and slowly entered the dark hovel, followed by Volkthar in a similar manner, then by Olren carrying his hammer.

As snow gently fell atop the far-away mountain peaks, the party neared the Swindler’s Den. The hairs on the back of Sirina’s neck were stiff, and her index finger began to twitch more frequently. She clutched her fist tight and shifted in Cinnamon’s saddle, thinking of the dangerous foe they were approaching of their own will. Had the Redguard mastered the use of paralysis spells, she had no confidence in the deployment that Commander Caius sent. In her mind, their odds of success were as if none were sent at all.

Her hand went to her chest and she felt her heart beating faster and more intensely. _Get yourself together, you can do this._ She had Garmag and Dro’tesh to fight beside her, yet she worried for Alessandria and her involvement. Though Alessandria progressed in learning the basic healing spell at an impressive rate, even she had little trouble casting such a novice spell after a few days of dedicated effort. She couldn’t rely on Alessandria in the event of an outright battle just yet. She would need to be protected, and that alone could hinder their chances of making it out of the cave even further.

They had little in the way of weapons: Garmag’s greatsword, a few daggers and knives, and a bow used for hunting. Only Garmag had armor among them, too. Reflecting on their initial confrontation with the warriors in Whiterun, they didn’t seem to wear armor either, though it was possible they would be better outfitted inside the cave. At the least, they certainly would all be wielding a proper weapon of their own with years of training behind them. Their training alone would prove a dangerous problem for all of them.

The hag’s words echoed in her mind. _Dibella, please don’t let us die. Please don’t let this cave be Garmag’s tomb._ She realized that with their paralysis spell, her and Alessandria didn’t need to die at all.

Sirina felt the oncoming panic set in. Her breathing became shorter, her pulse quickened, smothering.

Glancing down, she realized why.

“Alessandria,” she shouted, “stop squeezing me so tight!”

She threw her arms off from around Sirina’s chest and set them on the backend of the saddle. “Sorry,” she whispered. Alessandria stared off at the tundra. The sun was beginning to fall deeper behind the mountains, and the wind that swept across the plains was sharper as night approached. She inched up closer to Sirina and looked back to the two warriors following close behind them. The thick bag shrouded Garmag’s face, but he sat relaxed on the saddle of his horse.

Even Dro’tesh didn’t seem worried, though he had been rambling for the past hour, whether or not anyone was listening. Elsweyr, past adventures, moon sugar, old khajiit flames, he moved from one topic to the next with no relation or transitions between them. At some point she managed to tune him out, but he appeared to be content with Nirn as his only listener. Alessandria opened the old tome and quizzed herself on its teachings.

She was able to emanate a small light of restorative energy consistently for a several seconds now and smiled at the flickering brilliance within her hands.

After another hour of gentle travel, they stopped a fair distance from the cave. “Why are we stopping?” Dro’tesh asked. Sirina slid off Cinnamon’s back and rummaged in a bag tied to the saddle.

“A few reasons,” she replied. She took out a long strip of cloth, then fished out another of similar kind. “One: I need to prepare before we go any further.” Sirina pulled the cloth under her shirt, using it to cup her breasts and tying the ends together at her back. She gave the other to Alessandria. “Trust me, having them flop around in a fight hurts more than you think.” The Imperial took the cloth but kept her back to the party as she put it on. Sirina continued. “Two: I don’t think it’d be smart to take the horses. We get them too close and they’re liable to get injured, stolen, or even just heard. Given our lack of supplies, we need every advantage we can get, and I believe sneaking up on them unnoticed would allow us to have the upper hand. Should we need to retreat, having the horses just sittings outside as easy targets wouldn’t do us any good.” She asked Alessandria if she had a hairband and after giving her one, both put their hair up in tight buns.

“The horses can be stolen if we leave them here, also,” Dro’tesh rebutted. “And if we do need to retreat, we’d have to go on foot when horses could take us further faster. Tundra cats, wolves, even giants take any opportunity they can for food. Likely two well-kept horses sitting out in the open would prove tantalizing meals.”

Sirina reflected for a moment on his words. “Fair, though I like my odds more. They are not likely to be stolen by the enemy or by a passerby way out here, nor injured or killed if they are set loose to their own whims.”

Dro’tesh clicked his tongue skeptically. “What would happen should we emerge from the cave victoriously and can no longer retrieve the horses, and all your camping supplies disappear with them? Dro’tesh does not like the cold Skyrim nights and have seen even the Nords freeze on cold Skyrim nights.”

“Cinnamon will come,” Alessandria spoke. “I’m not too sure about Garmag’s horse, but Cinnamon is evidently trained to come on Sirina’s whistle. I’ve seen it for myself.” Now Garmag, too, hummed in agreement, the bag on his head insufficient to hide his nodding. “If Sirina calls her, Cinnamon will come.”

Dro’tesh hesitated but conceded. “If everyone is so confident in your odds, _tasmiit_ , then there is likely little I can do to change all your minds,” he said, sliding off the saddle and following behind Sirina, but the Nord woman stuck a hand out, stopping him.

“One final reason,” she told him. She took a step back and said, “Formation. I don’t mean to put you in harm’s way, Dro’tesh, nor is it personal, but I want you going in first. I’ll follow behind you, then Garmag, then Sirina at the back.” The face Dro’tesh made was hard to make-out, though Alessandria could tell he was not pleased. She spoke up to rebuke this order but was dismissed. “That’s just how it has to be, I apologize, though if it’s any comfort, I’m more than my appearance. I can hold my own.”

Alessandria expected an argument, but after a moment, Dro’tesh made a sigh of relief. “Ah, very well in that case, I will lead the way.”

 _Was that all it took?_ Alessandria thought. Either way, the accursed den was soon upon them, and Alessandria had no combat experience, no training, no weapon even. “I need a dagger,” she said aloud. “I’m not going to go in without being of some help. I am the one that dragged us all here, after all.”

Sirina gave her a small smirk and handed her the dagger she had around her hip, a small steel dagger with leather scabbard and handle well-worn and oxidized. “I’m sure you already know how to use one, but have you ever stabbed someone with a dagger before?”

“Well, no,” Alessandria confessed.

“Neck, eyes, chest, balls,” she said, demonstrating with another blade how to attack the vital spots. “Those are what you’re aiming for. In Whiterun, the group only wore garments with no padding or plate, but I’m not so sure what they’ll be wearing in that cave. Neck and eyes are almost always exposed. Stabbing them in the chest here or here,” she pointed using her body, “can do the job pretty well, but armor and even the ribs make it harder, so you either go under them here, or use a lot of force. All else fails, the balls will get them weakened enough to finish off.”

The swift thrusts and aggressive stance and inflections in her voice as she demonstrated proper form left Alessandria looking at Sirina warily. Traveling on the road constantly would bring its share of dangers and a necessity for self-protection, surely, but this seemed too methodical, too clean, too intentional. Still, all she knew of violence were the stories her grandfather would tell her of the Great War, and those that her father would leave with her of skirmishes with bubbling banditry in Cyrodill.

Garmag put a hand to Sirina’s shoulders startling her slightly, but when she saw it was him, she put her hand over his and kissed it. The dagger was put back into its sheath soon after. “That’s pretty much all you need to know for now. If it comes down to it, let us handle the fighting though, okay? Promise me you’ll look after yourself if it spirals out of our control.”

“I can’t promise you that,” Alessandria told her. “Not when you all are putting your lives at stake at my behest.”

Sirina’s spoke plainly, yet her words were curt. “I appreciate your commitment, I really do, but if it came to it, they’d cut you down easily, Alessandria. You have no experience fighting, nor even informal training. I’d leave you with the horses if I didn’t think you’d run in after us.” Alessandria looked away and sighed, nodding her head. A soft hand brushed her cheek. “If we make it out of that cave, we can get you a trainer at the next city we go to, if you’d like to join us after this mess is sorted.”

Sirina smiled warmly at her companion, and Alessandria couldn’t help but smile back faintly. Her breathing had become shallow.

A light chill crawled from the cave’s mouth as a light wind whistled forth from inside. The entrance sat bare and unordinary, rotted wood dotting the ground outside. Young hanging moss began to cultivate and droop low over the entrance. Dro’tesh sniffed the air and bared his fangs at the shadows within. He looked back at his companions and felt strange comfort in their nervous faces and with the Orc’s presence not too far behind him.

It descended rather steeply where shallow dirt gave way over a rocky bed, the light fading as they ventured ever on. The sun, having already disappeared behind the province’s stony borders, wilted away the last of its light. Darkness enveloped them before their eyes grew accustomed, though Dro’tesh would brush Sirina with his tail to guide her, who in turn was followed closely by Garmag, trailed by Alessandria gripping the leather strap holding his greatsword around him.

A peculiar scent lingered in the rock, self-identifying even to the ones without low-light vision. After a moment for their eyes to adjust, their conclusions were no different than when they were blind. Bodies were strewn about as they wound through the tunnels, clad in fur armors and cloaks and having wielded shabby weapons, some with blades broken, others with mace heads rusted and chipped. The blood on the walls and caked with soil was thick, dried slop, splattered and slung in great arcs. The fallen were cut down like wheat under the sickle, their souls harvested for whichever plain of existence was in store for them next.

Sirina didn't expect less from a team of Alik'r. She saw firsthand the efficiency of the Sword-swingers' descendents, among them the warriors from the Alik'r desert from which they hail.

The notion left her stomach turning. She had known a Redguard that hailed from the region once before, and she knew what even one was capable of.

The khajiit lead them all around the bodies where possible and silently moved any when necessary.

Single slashes had cleanly cut through their sorry furs, he saw, leaving some missing the sleeves of their armors or their furry shawls in cloven in two or even the entire torso section dangling from their skirt bottoms as their straps were sliced through. They offered little protection to the force that ran through them all. Alessandria couldn’t keep from staring back at the worst of the mangled bodies, but the rest would only glance long enough to step around them.

They followed a cold set of footprints in the tunnel’s soil deeper into the cave. Some have already breached the cave and dispatched with the forward resistance, he quietly passed to the others. Even in a whisper, his voice was carried far into the throngs of the dark.

“By the Eight…” whispered Alessandria. Though relieved none of the soldiers were among the dead, she expected to walk over their bodies at any moment and with them, their Redguard killers. She believed in their survival, though more out of vain hope than much else.

The end of the tunnels came soon after, exiting into a large chamber. Cuts of beef skewers, burnt black, oozed into the embers of a dying fire, surrounded by fur sleeping bags. Boxes of pelts and chopped wood occupied the space, alongside several barrels filled with salted meats, potatoes, water, and various pieces of wooden furniture strewn about. The occupants, inarguably, had stayed there for some time. It was their home and their graves. Several more bodies laid motionless around the cavern, inflicted with similar wounds to the ones in the preceding tunnel. Several of them lay flatter than others, their body cavities crushed inwards, making them look more like pink and purple sludge than people.

The party looked at one another and silently agreed to continue further as another tunnel, tucked into a further corner of the chamber, was found. Rushing water could be heard crashing into its feeding pond and soon, a large pool greeted them on the other end of their walk. An underground river had encroached into the cave from above, forming a wall of water further down within eyesight as it flooded this lower portion of the cave system.

On the other side of the waterfall sat an embankment that rose then split off into opposite directions. The two paths would circle around the cavern and meet on either side of the river. The water took on an ethereal color, glowing a luminously cloudy blue.

The body of a Whiterun guard floated face down in the pool, causing a large section of the pond to be dyed purple. The proud shield of the city was tied firmly to the man’s arm and split almost in two, stained with potent blood where the wood had been cleaved. Sirina was glad that Alessa stood at the back.

Noting that the step down to the surface of the pool was approximately a foot high, Dro’tesh hesitated continuing. Were the water’s color hiding a deep ravine below, a sudden unprepared plunge could give away their position and leave them open to ranged attacks or get them caught in savage underwater currents not visible from above. Were the pool shallow, any traps meant for intruders could be hidden beneath the water and easily unnoticed until already sprung.

They noticed that talking was clearer, louder, amplified by the concave alcove they stood in as two people suddenly started speaking up.

Redguard accents.

Alik’r warriors.

Alessandria’s breathing was cut, and her heart thrashed in her chest. The small dagger trembled in her grip and she stood frozen. Sirina solemnly looked back at Garmag and took his hand, squeezing it gently before noticing Alessandria’s state. Unslinging her hunting bow off her shoulder, she carefully embraced the frightened girl and helped her sit down, motioning to stay quiet all the while.

“Do you think any more will come?” asked one of them.

“Perhaps not for another day or two, though it’s possible they will send more together next time. Without the poachers in the front acting as a buffer, we’re more exposed now. Best find somewhere else to stay for now.” The other agreed and turned to walk away before dismissed. “The girl?” the Redguard asked curtly.

With a restrained sigh the other replied, “She, eh, took her own life. Tried to stop her, but the Nords…you know how they are. No fight in them anymore. No fun.”

The Redguard softly hummed to himself, dissatisfied at the news. “We’re here for one purpose, Alush, and it’s not to claim prizes out of conquest. We’re lucky it was just those three that they sent after the Nord. Were she a noble’s daughter, maybe even of a greater clan, more would’ve shown up this first time.”

Alush now laughed, his voice carried throughout the cave. “We’ve been at this for months now. Our only lead became a cold trail. Vildr’s dead and Sasomar’s captured. We can search for Iman all we want, but you can’t expect me to sit idly while we turn up with nothing. I see a pretty woman, I’ll take her.”

“I know, I saw it first-hand, and our days grow shorter as a result. Your eyes were so fixated on that Nord woman that you didn’t act when an Orc ran up the stairs to kill Vildr. You would've been more useful without hands -- at least you'd have an excuse for not acting. Instead, Sasomar foolishly defended you while you carried off that new woman of yours. How long will she last, eh? Will she survive the week?” He scoffed. “I fear we’ll all follow Vildr if you don’t control yourself,” the other gruffed hoarsely.

Alush, slighted, rested his hand on the pommel of his steel scimitar. “The reachmen, the Stormcloaks, Hold guards of Markarth, Ivarstead and Whiterun, many have stood in our path, and we cut them down for they were our enemies. The more we lose of our own, the more I realize that you may also stand in our way. Following you has led us down this path. We were seven great warriors when we crossed the border, and now it’s just us three.”

A new voice piped, “Alush, Khamin, enough – the both of you!” But the command was ignored. In their commotion, they didn’t hear Sirina hop into the pool after using her bow to feel for a safe bottom. Her knees sat just above the waterline, but the water itself was bitter cold, prickling her skin through her clothing.

She crawled on all fours slowly dragging her bow along the silt-ridden floor for falls, traps, or other obstructions. As she neared the waterfall, she looked back at her companions and motioned for them to carefully move forward.

“He speaks wisely,” Khamin proposed, “perhaps you should listen.” He gripped his scimitar’s handle and kept his eyes firmly on Alush. Having grown up in the same village as Alush, he knew all too well the man’s fighting style and habits. He liked to feign a targeted attack, either a swipe at the legs, hands, or even the neck, and when his opponent moved to block, pull back, step around, and cut down their backs.

It was surprisingly effective, especially among the weaker castes, but Khamin hadn’t gotten to his age by accident. He knew what to expect, what to exploit, and intended on showcasing his honed skill.

The two grimaced at each other, pulling on their cheches to cover their mouths and noses. Neither moved after taking their chosen battle stance, and each gripped the sharp scimitars hanging from their belts. Across the arid sands of Alik’r, the scimitar raised in the eponymous warrior’s hands counted down the seconds left on their intended victims’ lives.

The third Redguard continued to protest, but his cries were only heard by Sirina and her party. He knew better than to try and physically break up the conflict, too; he’d be cut straight through with impunity by them both. After the fire in both men’s eyes reached a threshold, he sighed.

They drew their weapons and swung.

Alush targeted the hand.

Khamin switched sword arms and blocked the blow.

He reached to punch a wide-eyed Alush, who stared with anger and disbelief, but the blow never landed.

Neither could move. They stared at each other, Khamin with disappointment, and Alush now with rage, with their swords clashed like a monument to a forlorn battle.

“Seems neither of you listened,” the third Redguard stated. “We can’t go turning on each other now.” He brought his hands down, dissipating the spell in his hands. “We need to be united, now more than ever, if we are to find Iman. Besides, being stuck with you both is somehow more tolerable than just one of you.”

The Redguard sat back down on a rotting chair and stared at his frozen brothers, thankful for the quiet. He contemplated leaving them though he was certain they would hunt him down when they recovered hours later. He was, unremarkably, weary of their quest.

They had set out to Skyrim months ago and made little progress in finding the Redguard woman they sought. They combed through the forests and the mountains along the border between Skyrim and Hammerfell but found only the doom of half their party. Several encounters in cities had once seemed promising but ended in bitter dead-ends as the citizens proved unhelpful and aggressive. Authorities in the cities were suspicious of them, Jarls closed their longhouses and inns shuttered their doors as word of their methodology spread through the Western holds.

Wherever Iman was, he reckoned, if she was even alive still, she probably had grown to hate the damned Nordic ice and snow as he did. He held his head in his hands. The distinct _thwump_ of a bow had rung.

The Redguard moved just enough that the arrow dug into his shoulder instead of its true mark, drawing a sharp growl as he clutched his wound. His eyes narrowed in on Sirina kneeling on the rising embankment across from him, bow in hand, and a venomous glow erupted from his hands. He shot several bolts of magic at her, barely missing as she fell flat against the dirt ramp. A sharp pain moved through his chest and arm.

Alessandria moved to Sirina’s aid, but Garmag held his arm out to stop her. With a smooth motion, he pulled the greatsword out of its scabbard on his back with a single hand and stepped forward to join Dro’tesh. The khajiit took the ramp going in the other direction as Garmag moved to cover Sirina. The sight of the great Orc, whose stomps sent tremors rumbling through the cave and into the hearts of his frozen companions, gave the Redguard significant pause. Water was shaken off his iron cuirass with each step, the drops themselves seeking safety from the warrior. 

Here was the killer of one of his fellow warriors, back to run his blade through them as he did Vildr. Somehow the Orc stepped towards him despite the burlap bag over his head, despite the darkness, despite how far they made their base from Whiterun. Despite his travels, he had never encountered an Orc in battle, but had heard tales of the savage race of blood-drinking chieftains whose many wives wielded great forgehammers for their craft, whose children were bred for war in the Empire’s early days.

It had been said once that Orcs were regular elves once, but bloodlust and malice twisted them, giving them tusks and never-ending malice. Now, as the great blade that crumpled the body of his past companion shone in the dim light of the cave, he wondered if it had been a quick death.

Before Garmag could come any closer, the Redguard snapped out of his stupor and concentrated his magic into a potent ball. With the arrow still buried in his shoulder, the Redguard hastily cast his spell and hurled it as fast he could. It barreled toward the Orc, temporarily illuminating the cavern in an iridescent green hue. The Orc’s sword clattered against the stone and his fall shook the moss and vines hanging off the ceiling.

Sirina yelled after him, “Garmag!” Her suspicions of a paralysis spell wielder were proven to deadly affect. Not only could he paralyze someone using magic, but he could do it at range. Even with this confirmation, she lifted herself up, a simple dagger in her hand, and rushed to Garmag’s side, her bow slung back around her arm. Alessadria, seeing no other course for herself other than backing up Sirina, ran after her and knelt to check on Garmag.

She lifted the bottom of the Orc’s bag and felt a faint breath from his half-open mouth. He was alive, but motionless, unable to move. With his head firmly planted in the ground, the bag wouldn’t lift any higher, but so long as he was alive, Alessandria was confident he was fine. Despite the dim light, it was the closest she’d looked at the tusks in his mouth; they were thick and dull at the end.

With a swift motion, the Redguard tore off the wooden arrow and tossed it back to Sirina. “It seems reinforcements did come after all,” he called. He grimaced as his left arm struggled to respond to his commands, and what little it could also sent a jolt across his chest. He hoped the act was enough to intimidate them. The Orc was down, and they were alone against him. He felt his robes stick to his skin. Using his good arm, he pulled his red cheche over his bearded face, a tradition of combat.

“Is Ysolda still alive?” Alessandria yelled. She hoped what she had heard earlier was a mistake, a distortion brought on by the cave echoes.

“Alessa, stay out of this,” Sirina whispered. “Run away. It’s just me and him.”

“Not without Ysolda!”

“Alessa, go away!” Sirina’s voice was sharp again and though not overtly forceful, boomed around the cavern. Alessandria felt a malicious energy emanate from her that chilled her. She contemplated fleeing, but one look at the Nord reminded her that this was the woman who saved her life and was defending it even now.

“I’ve wiped scores of mer across the great Alik’r Desert, purged cities of Aldmeri control, and hunted the great beasts of Hammerfell with this very blade. Even if you stayed with your friend, together you—”

A swift kick swung directly at his chest, knocking him backward. A tall, gruff khajiit stood with his foreclaws out, dripping wet. It stood low with its fangs bared and eyes narrowed. Even with its fur soaked, he could’ve mistaken the khajiit for a lion had it not worn clothing. “You kidnapped Ysolda, _vethiit._ You will release her into my care or die.”

The Redguard smirked under his cheche. “You too, eh?” he said hoarsely. “Is that really all you want from us? The girl?”

“It is,” Dro’tesh said. “Give her to us and we’ll leave you be.”

The Redguard backed up a few steps to get all his attackers in his sight at once. “Perhaps we can strike some sort of deal. My friends are unable to join a fight, but so is your strongest warrior. Two women with knives and an unarmed cat can prove fearsome, but I’ve faced worse odds. Perhaps you kill me, but maybe I can kill you all as well. Is that a chance you’d like to take over a bargain?”

In a moment’s flash, Sirina took an arrow from her quiver and shot it at the Alik’r before Alessandria could react. The Redguard, even in the scant light offered by the luminous water, deflected the arrow in the air.

At this moment, Dro’tesh moved to attack, twisting and twirling his claws, throwing kicks and punches at the Redguard whose speed narrowly avoided each attack. The water in his fur was wicked off in his attacks and were the only things to touch the Redguard warrior. The Alik’r was calm, collected, but the exertion was beginning to weigh heavily on him. The khajiit was good and he wondered how differently the duel would be had he no existing wounds and the khajiit a proper weapon in his hands. The Alik’r channeled what he could into his left arm and punched at Dro’tesh with a green fist, but the khajiit would curve and step out of the deadly spell’s way.

The attacks further dulled the sensation in his arm, but he ignored the discomfort. When he saw an opening, he thrust at the khajiit once with his scimitar and sliced open his upper thigh, sending Dro’tesh tumbling in the dirt.

The river carried his blood down the stream into its feeding pool, its murky water slowly muddied further.

The khajiit warrior hissed, clutching his leg. The Redguard’s scimitar was lathered in blood in along its sharp edge once again. “Now he’s down too.” The Redguard swung his blade downward, slapping the excess blood into the dirt. “My offer still stands. Come at me again, and he’ll die, as will you, you, and your Orc, so easily dispatchable.”

Weighing the events that she witnessed, Sirina sighed. “Before we hear the terms of your bargain, we must know if any of your companions can also cast paralysis spells.” Alessandria shot her eyes at Sirina, bewildered.

“We’re here because of them, Sirina! They kidnapped Ysolda on top of everything else they did! Why should we negotiate anything with him?”

“You’re right, Alessa, but so is he,” she said. “If I attack him next and lose, that’s it -- our quest is done, and our bodies sit in this cave forever. A bargain could be what lets us all leave here alive.”

“Fortunately for you, I am. Those other two are wonderful swordsmen, but they would make terrible mages. The time to act is now, ladies,” he huffed. “That cat of yours is losing an awful lot of blood.”

“What is it you want?” Sirina beckoned. _Does your word mean we’d leave this cave?_ she thought. She looked over at Dro’tesh dragging himself away from the scimitar-wielding warrior, and then looked to Alessa kneeling over Garmag. Had she not known it was only temporary paralysis, it would be easy to mistake him for dead, a thought that dropped her heart into her stomach.

“My name is Doramir Rhag-i. My companions and I are here looking for one person, and one person only: A Redguard woman named Iman.” The Doramir sheathed his scimitar and walked over to the chair he sat on minutes ago. “Years ago, the Aldmeri Dominion came into Hammerfell and laid siege to the Kingdom of Taneth, eventually conquering it for a time before they left the region following the Treaty of Stros M’kai. The Kingdom was regarded well for its strength. It’s said the city itself could have warded off the Aldmeri attackers, yet fell because of a traitor that opened the gates to welcome the elves. That traitor is Iman, a princess among one of the province's noblest houses.” He spat in disgust, tasting blood in his saliva.

“She seemingly fled Hammerfell and came to Skyrim shortly afterwards, where we learned that she settled in Whiterun under the name ‘Saadia,’ and worked as a wench at the capital’s inn.”

Alessandria almost gasped. Her mind instantly recalled the memory of her attacker demanding to see Saadia, that she was who they were looking for initially. More and more, Hulda’s reaction to the Alik’r warriors was beginning to make sense to her. A clearer picture was presenting itself in her mind. _Did she know about Saadia’s true origins? Why would she house her if she did?_ _Well, she took me in too, after all…_

“The rest you know,” the Redguard continued. “After our little bout at The Bannered Mare, our trail ended, and we lost two of our men as a result. The city captured one of our men during our escape from the city, and your Orc friend there personally butchered the other. Should you bring her to us, we can all leave on amicable terms. You with your woman, and us with ours.”

As soon as the Redguard had mentioned The Bannered Mare, Alessandria dwelled on the Redguard, the one they called Vildr, and the hate in his eyes as he chanted Saadia’s name, the vile touch of his skin. The fear she felt rushed back with the memory of his face, burned clearly into her mind forever, made her both sick and angry. She wanted to cry, to shout, to feel him die all over again for what he did to her, but that monster was rotting somewhere already.

She picked up her dagger and stood up. “Why me?” she asked the Redguard.

Doramir undid his cheche and felt for his chest. He almost asked for her to repeat the question. “I don’t know who you are,” he curtly told her. “I recognize this girl from the inn because she ran up the stairs with the Orc, but you I don’t recall ever seeing. Why what?”

Alessandria exploded. “I’m the one who was offered to you all at the inn! The one Vildr took upstairs to that damned room -- I was the bloody whore!” Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes and her screams dissolved into choked whimpers. “Do you know what he did? He raped me! He smacked me once and I couldn’t move my own body and he – he…” The dagger in her hand strained under her grip. “I feel him still, on me, inside me, his damned breath on my face. At least pretend to remember me and answer my question.”

The violent aura melted away from Sirina as she heard her the echoes of her friend’s soul break. The Redguard she very much wanted to kill was now the least of her worries. She looked to Doramir’s sweat-clad face and turned from him, moving to take Alessandria into her arms and tell her that she was safe and be able to take all the pain away from her. The corners of the cavern seemed to shift with the Imperial’s wails, for the moss hanging from cracks in the ceiling drooped lower, the cave grew quieter, and the river flowed over rocks and cascaded down the waterfall softer than before.

Only a day and a half had passed at most. The wounds would never heal completely, and the scar would always be with her. Sirina knew that many women, and even the men who would never admit it, would cope with such atrocities differently throughout their lifetimes, running from it or hiding it under some other problem to feel in control themselves. She wished she could share with Alessandria her own experiences, but they still sat in Swindler’s Den, and danger still lurked.

“I remember you now,” Doramir muttered. He rested his good elbow on his knee. “The innkeeper brought you instead of Iman – Saadia – to us. I’m… I’m sorry for what Vildr did. Though it likely won’t make you feel better, Vildr acted on his own accord. We’re not all like him. We had agreed that sexual acts during our mission were forbidden after he and Alush couldn’t keep to themselves in Haafingar, though it seems our pact was thinner than believed.” Alessandria had stopped crying, only standing silent with her eyes on the gentle stream that passed her by.

“To my knowledge,” he continued, “the girl, Ysolda, has remained unharmed though tussled from our flight from the city. With Alush here the only one to worry about, it’s been easier to reign in those urges.”

“Which one is Alush?” she asked, walking to the warriors frozen amid a duel. The one with a fist closest to his face looked at her, his mouth agape in the scream of battle and his eyes quaking at his defenselessness. Doramir winced as Alessandria thrust her dagger violently into Alush’s eye. Sirina called her, shocked at the sudden turn of action she took.

Blood trickled out of the fatal wound and Alessandria’s stomach turned with the soft spongy sensation she felt at the other end of the blade. In her mind, it was the closest she could get to Vildr; other than his build and height, Alush looked no different. Hours later when the spell would wear off, his body would crumple to the floor and rot into the earth.

From then on, Khamin could only stare at Alush, one eye replaced with a dagger’s hilt. Sirina had half a mind to retrieve the blade, having been hers, but decided against it. _I’ve been meaning to toss that thing away anyways._

“I always knew he’d die before me,” Doramir puffed. He clutched his left arm now

“As for Ysolda, I assume we have a –”

“No deal,” Alessandria dryly stated. If the Alik'r truly did not know where Saadia was, then she wouldn't be found with Ysolda and likely wouldn't be found at all. Wherever she went, whichever direction she traveled in the great province, searching for her would be a great undertaking, and Ysolda would remain in the Redguards' care with only their word ensuring her safety. 

“You won’t get her back otherwise.” He sneered at the woman.

“We will.”

Doramir scoffed weakly. “So be it,” he said, before struggling to rise. He found his legs weaker than before and the breath he took burned in his chest. His body had waived to the chilled hand of death now, and it would take powerful magic, a shelf of potions, or at least something to stop the blood from seeping into his clothes to free him. Doramir reflected on all his achievements, all his misdeeds, the lands he saw and the people he’d met throughout his life.

The End followed everyone, especially those whose lives revolved around the death of others, and as it was his breathing was becoming faint and shallow. A veil passed over him and Doramir knew he had done all he could for his land, for his people, and even for his companions. He was grateful for all that he had been able to do with the time allotted to him with his only regret being dying in Skyrim, in a dank and uninhabited cave where he wouldn’t be given a proper Ra Gada burial. The sun and sands of Hammerfell faraway beckoned him to return numerous times in the past year, and yet it was ice and rock that would take his body.

Very softly, audible only because of the cavern they sat in, he muttered once again: “So be it.” His final words echoed around the cavern, ghosts themselves. He bowed his head and soon all that moved on that chair was the blood that dripped from his mouth.

Alessandria ran to Dro’tesh who had torn part of his tunic to tie above the leg wound. His ears and whiskers pointed downwards and though the bleeding had been quelled for now, a scowl had replaced his once intimidating face. Dirt and dust had entered the open flesh, peppering the cut. To wash away the grime and debris, she helped him closer to the stream, lifting his leg while he pushed himself despite the agony.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked her after his leg was cleaned. She sat there with her hands hovering above the cut and a determined face about her.

“Yes, I think. Quiet.” Concentrating on the words she had read, her hands began to glow and magic twirled and danced between her fingers and around her palms as a small ball of light was formed. The light was akin to that of a candle, small yet bright and hopeful. Dro’tesh could feel his spirits lift, and the ends of his fur perked up as the magic was transferred to him.

Sirina looked over at her from where she sat next to Garmag and smiled. “I wish you could see her,” she whispered to her Orc. Had Garmag been able to speak, he would’ve agreed. She made sure the front of the burlap was rolled up enough to let him breathe easy. “I should go help. She’s not likely to close that up on her own.”

She sat on the other side of Dro’tesh and rolled up her long sleeves. Alessandria almost stepped back but Sirina encouraged her to continue. “You’re doing great,” she told the Imperial, who smiled back at her coyly.

With her hands close together, Sirina cast her own healing spell and heavenly radiance swirled around her hands and arms and exuded over the gap in Dro’tesh’s leg. A low purr tumbled in his throat and by Sirina’s instruction, Alessandria carefully pushed the split in the khajiit’s leg together without causing further suffering. His leg was wrapped carefully by Sirina.

“That should be enough, at least until we get you a proper healer,” she panted. It had been too long since she had mustered that much magicka.

“Thank you, _tasmiit._ This one had underestimated his opponent this day. Luckily, you two were here to assist. But what of Ysolda? If that _vethiit_ was willing to bargain for her, then she must be here still.”

Alessandria stood and surveyed the room and found another tunnel going deeper into the caverns. Fearing another encounter with an Alik’r, Sirina rushed to join her. The walkway was narrower than the others, their shoulders brushing the rock and dirt of the walls.

A splatter of blood colored the floor and lead onwards. The snaps and flickers of a fire could be heard, and its warm light made shadows dance against the tight corridor. Sirina squeezed her way to the front and held her dagger tightly. They reached a small cavity still forming in the cave system where three bedrolls lay in one corner, a small fire rested underneath a cooking pot in the other, two bodies were piled on top of each other in another, and Ysolda, bound and gagged, laid on her side in the last.

The cavity was small enough that they could scope the entire room and with it being clear, Alessandria rushed to Ysolda’s side and Sirina apprehensively approached the dead couple. The blood smears lead to them. A large Nord laid with one arm hanging on by its ligaments and a large slash across his back. The girl had her hands bound and a single puncture wound through her heart. Sirina moved her hand across the blonde Nord’s glossed eyes. The cave ended there and no Redguard woman was to be found within.

Ysolda squirmed in her shackles and shouted through her gag when she saw Alessandria. Her hair was matted, and its once burgundy color was coated in brown. Her blue gown had been torn in places and the brown bodice that once wrapped around her torso was long gone, leaving her low-cut chemise exposed. That too was ripped, particularly at the bottom seem. Ysolda fought back tears as she sat up to greet the Imperial woman. After Alessandria had removed the strip of cloth forced across her mouth, Ysolda thanked the two girls profusely, tripping over her words.

“How did you find me?” she asked, alongside other questions she asked on top of each other such as, “What happened to the Redguards? How did you get past them?” and “You’re not working for them, are you?” The horror she had witnessed, of the guard killing herself than be abused alive, had left her senses frayed.

“No, not at all,” Alessandria replied, giving her a small smile. She pulled the Nord into her embrace. “We’re here to free you, you fool. By the Eight, I almost thought they had killed you.” The warm hug nearly brought Ysolda to tears.

Sirina knelt beside Alessa and cut Ysolda’s ties. “Did they hurt you at all?” she asked.

Ysolda had recognized the girl’s fiery hair, a rarity among the Nords, and soon recognized the woman that helped save her, but thought such talk was unnecessary for the moment. “No,” she said, “at least not after they made off with me. They carried me around like a doll, shaking me up quite right. One of them tried ripping at my clothing, but the other two men stopped him, and I was left alone since.” She couldn't speak of the guard, of all the blood, of the sound the dagger made as it punctured bone and flesh. 

Sirina helped the two women to their feet. “We should head back. Dro’tesh probably needs a hand getting up as well. We also need to figure out –”

“Dro’tesh? He’s here?” Ysolda asked surprised. 

“Do you know him?” Sirina’s question went unanswered verbally as Ysolda bolted through the tunnel. Sirina and Alessandria followed, and found her clutching the khajiit warrior, wrapping her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her.

“You came for me,” she sniffled.

“Of course I did. The moon sits dim without you,” he whispered back. They kissed and tightened their hold of one another.

Alessandria stood surprised. Ysolda was a regular trader with the khajiit caravans, one of the few established merchants in the city to deal with them, but she had no idea that she was romantically involved with a khajiit. She stepped towards them when Sirina caught her hand. The sensation felt long in its absence. “Let’s give them a moment,” she told Alessa. “Besides, we need to figure out what to do about Garmag. He’s heavy enough on his own, and his armor certainly doesn’t help. As for the Redguard, what should we do about him?”

“I say we kill him,” Alessandria spat, almost eliciting a sigh from Sirina.

“There’s been enough death today, Alessa.”

Alessandria narrowed her eyes at her. “Sirina, he’s one of—”

“I know, Alessa. I’m sorry. I know it sounds crazy, you might think I don’t care, but I don’t think we should just kill him. He’s the last one of his group. Whether he goes back home, goes somewhere else, or comes after us, he’ll be doing it on his own. Half of Skyrim has an eye out for these guys now and we have the numbers advantage now.”

“Numbers advantage? That other one could’ve killed Dro’tesh and Garmag on his own!”

“But he was also the only reason that Garmag went down. I’m confident he stood no chance in an even fight with him.”

“What do you propose we do then? Leave this guy here?” Alessandria had half a mind to take the dagger out of Alush and force into the last Redguard’s eye then and there, but the mere thought of the blade piercing the man’s flesh made her stomach turn.

“Yes. The biggest advantage Doramir had was that paralysis spell. If this one can’t use magic, then Garmag and I would be able to defeat him together.”

Alessandria huffed and crossed her arms and slicked her wet bangs back out of her face. “Fine,” she finally said after much thought. “But do me one favor: stick an arrow in his leg.”

“Alessandria!”

“He won’t bleed to death if he doesn’t pull the arrow out,” she interjected. “He’ll limp, possibly even fall occassionally for a few weeks, but he’ll live.”

Sirina peered at the Imperial before her. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?” Alessandria ignored the remark, and Sirina took an arrow from the small quiver on her back. She cautiously approached the Redguard frozen in place and lightly prodded him with the arrow.

He made no movement. Carefully feeling for possible obstructions on his thigh, she ran her hand around his leg, and when she found none, forcefully jabbed the arrow into his leg.

He made no movement, but the two could hear a faint hiss come from him.

Noticing they wore red capes, Alessandria felt the material, tugging it and folding small portions of it. She looked over at Garmag, then at Sirina, who seemed to catch on. Alessandria took the one Alush wore around his neck and folded it, and Sirina took Khamin’s.

Scrounging up the straightest pieces of solid material they could, a fire stoker and a broken broom, they folded the capes around the two poles to form a makeshift gurney and laid it next to Garmag. With Ysolda’s help, the three managed to roll Garmag onto the gurney and back to the first cavern. Despite Ysolda and Alessandria carrying one side together, the three had to set the Orc down several times to rest, to adjust their grips, or to pick themselves up if they fell.

They then went back for Dro’tesh, who claimed a scimitar for himself, and helped him through the cavern, lifting and supporting his walk. His damp fur had a musty odor and he was surprisingly lighter than Garmag despite their similar size. "Thank you," he told the women. "Without you, Ysolda would still be a prisoner and I would be left without her." 

"It was you that did the work, Dro'tesh," Sirina replied. "Without you, we wouldn't have come at all and likely would've perished. I got one hit on the warrior by surprise. You confronted him directly." 

Dro'tesh clicked his tongue. "Well, I won't deny I was quite fearsome, wasn't I?" He grinned at the girls. 

Alessandria's smile was small, a crack in her doleful demeanor. "Was Ysolda the 'spoils of our victory' that you sought, Dro'tesh?" She thought the idea romantic, pulled straight from several stories she had read throughout the years. 

The khajiit looked at the burgundy-haired Nord, at her slender frame and the way she tucked her shoulder-length hair behind an ear. "Ysolda was always my goal, yes." Alessandria felt her heart warm and she couldn't resist smiling as the two lovers gleamed at one another. "Though this sword certainly is nice," he joked. 

Ysolda playfully slapped his chest, and he leaned over to nuzzle her nose. "Your leg's nearly cut off yet here you are jesting."

As they continued to carry Dro'tesh, Sirina wondered how they were going to take Garmag on the horses. Alessandria brought up an old story she read about fallen warriors in Cyrodill carried home on their shields. Once they had finished moving the khajiit, she found the most intact shield she could, and after carrying Garmag outside the cave and calling the horses, they rolled him as high up on the shield as they could and tied him securely to it.

The though suddenly came to her. “You should take Garmag’s horse,” Sirina offered to Ysolda. “Get Dro'tesh to a temple with a proper healer, and he should be fine.”

Ysolda initially denied her offer, but Sirina insisted. “You both have been through so much,” she told her, lightly taking hold of her hands. “You especially Ysolda. Alessa had informed me you had big plans for The Bannered Mare before all this, too. We went back to the inn earlier and saw first-hand that it needs you – as soon as possible.” She looked over at Dro’tesh who stood hunched over, holding on to the black steed. “He needs you too. It’s a long walk back to Whiterun, and that horse can get you both there safely.”

“But the guards,” Ysolda cried, “they won’t let Dro’tesh in, especially not in his state. They wouldn’t even let the khajiiti caravans come in to trade.”

Sirina searched her pack that hung off Cinnamon and gave her one of the special coins she carried. Ysolda’s eyebrows furrowed as she studied it. “If they won’t let him in, demand to see Caius and hand him this. He’ll know what it means, but if that daft old man doesn’t, tell him it’s from the Dibellan sister. He’ll let Dro’tesh in.” Ysolda closed the coin in her hand and smiled.

“Thank you,” she told Sirina. She hugged the Nord tightly, as well as Alessandria. “I take it you won’t be coming back to the city then?”

Alessandria looked at the far horizon and the moon that hung up high in the air. “No, I don’t think I will be.” Her mind wandered to the missing Redguard Saadia, who was seemingly known as Princess Iman, a traitor to her province and people. Alessandria didn't much like the Aldmeri Dominion, or had much opinion on their conflict in Hammerfell, yet it was startling to learn that Saadia -- Iman -- had given up her kingdom when they could've resisted. To her, however, Saadia was a joyful girl, one of the better cooks among the women of the inn and often wise and composed. She hoped she was alive somewhere, despite all that she knew of the girl put into question.

Ysolda’s smile drooped into a concerned scowl. “Alessa, I happened to overhear what you said in there, about what happened to you. I’m—”

“It’s okay, Ysolda. I mean, it’s not okay – what happened, but I thank you for the sentiment. Just go and make sure it’ll never happen to anyone else there. I know you’ll bring about decent change. Give them something better to eat than broth every morning,” she laughed. Ysolda gave her a light smile, and Alessandria in return kissed her cheek. "Perhaps I'll see you again soon," she told the Nord. 

Dro'tesh gently stroked the black stallion's mane, careful to not nick the horse's skin with his claws. Sirina walked over to him and shook his hand, a strange sensation given the fur. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Dro'tesh. You're certainly a fine warrior."

The khajiit bowed his head. "The pleasure is my own, Sirina. Thank you both once again for all you've done for us. I'll likely be staying in Whiterun with Ysolda. Should either you and Alessandria make way back to the city, we'd be humbled to have you as guests."

Sirina mirrored the bow and smiled. The three then spent some time moving over the things from Garmag’s horse onto Cinnamon. Having linked Garmag to Cinnamon’s saddle, Ysolda and Dro’tesh mounted the black steed and waved goodbye to Sirina and Alessandria and Garmag. The two shared a kiss under the watchful eye of the moon. "May your paths lead you to warm sands," Dro'tesh called out. The stallion steadily trotted away eastward back to Whiterun, delving into the moon-lit night.

Sirina and Alessandria mounted the brown mare, Alessandria behind the Nord woman. “I’m sorry we have to take you like this, Gar,” Sirina said to the Orc, “I’ll try to avoid the rocks." She then reached over to her horse's ear. "I’m sorry for giving you all this to carry, Cinnamon,” she whispered into the horse’s ear while stroking her neck. “It’s just for a little while until we get you a new friend.”

With a light squeeze at her sides, Cinnamon began carrying the trio westwards, further into Whiterun hold. The chilly night could make one think it’d snow, but the skies were clear and the constellation of the Mage sat prominently above the world.

“So you know healing spells too, then?” Alessandria asked.

Sirina laughed warmly. “Just the one, unfortunately.”

“Can you make fire shoot from your hands too? What else can you do?”

“Not that,” she chuckled.

Alessandria wrapped her arms around Sirina’s back, both for warmth and for comfort as the sound of Garmag’s iron boots dragged behind them. Sirina smiled and placed a hand over Alessandria’s. She pulled a dry fur cloak from one of Garmag's bags and gave it to the shivering girl. Alessandria gladly put it on. She hoped that she would know Sirina more as they ventured onward together and fought back the pain she felt in her chest as she realized that’s all that she looked to accomplish now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking much longer to push this one out. I didn't want to rush what I thought were pretty insurmountable odds and had to consider all that had happened. Let me know what you think, either in message or in comment, to help me improve the story as it comes along. Thank you for your patience and support!


	5. To Be A Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio arrive at Rorikstead, their first official stop on the way back to Markarth. Sirina shows Alessandria a little of what a Sister of Dibella truly does as they recover from their trek into Swindler's Den, and Alessandria weighs her future with Sirina amid her uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the indication for smut scenes to hopefully be a little more clear. Any lines between the boundaries of a 
> 
> ~oXo~
> 
> symbol are intended smut scenes. Usually not too plot specific so you can skip them if you're not feeling itching for some icky. It's been really interesting writing like a half serious, half smut fic. Hopefully I'm doing decent at either one.

The Dibellan Heart Chapter 5

As the dawn peaked over the eastern mountains, the night’s wind had dwindled, barely rustling the grasses and bushes that littered the plains of Whiterun. The day’s first light, from which the continent had been named for, gleamed in its infancy, and warmed the province’s mountains, valleys, and forests of their nightly onslaught of snow and ice. Blue jays and pine thrushes and chickadees emerged from their mud-covered nests and their tree-trunk homes to shake their once-fettered feathers dry before taking flight in search of seeds, nuts, insects. They fed their young, repaired their nests with the care of expert craftsmen, they sang their morning songs of hope for another day.

Within other trunks and tightly packed on the underside of branches were nests of honeybees, pulsing and spright as their first duties were being carried out. The workers danced for each other in the rising sun. Bears, elk, foxes, rabbits all crawled out of their hovels for yet another day of survival, for another day to do what they were made to do.

She awoke dazed with spittle dripping from her partially open mouth. Her senses slowly coming back to her, she realized she was sitting on a stationary horse, and a large figure, whose head lined up with hers despite her mounted height, had been holding her upright. She yelped and pushed herself away, tumbling onto the dirt and grass and sprawled for safety; a fur cloak slid off her shoulders. Her heart raced and her breath was ragged. Garmag stepped around the horse and held out a hand to her.

“Shor’s breath,” Sirina exclaimed, “Are you okay?” She ran over to Alessandria and kneeled by her side. She wore nothing but her Dibellan amulet and a lily in her hair, which had been tied back with numerous braids. Other than her nipples being erect, she didn’t seem to mind the cold. Whiterun, with its many large braziers always lit and the multiple layers of stone buildings, had largely kept the biting winds and chilly air at bay, yet here the plains were barren save for the odd tree that stood tall and leafless. _Damn Nords,_ Alessandria shuddered.

She rubbed her head lightly, the events at Swindler’s Den coming to the forefront of her memory, and after a moment finally said, “I suppose I had briefly forgotten where I was.” She took Garmag’s iron-wrapped hand, and he lifted her up with little effort in a single tug. The Orc picked up the fur cloak and shook it before giving it to her. The morning breeze carried the waft of fried eggs, roasted beef, and fresh bread far across the plains. A rumbling sound, akin to the shaking earth when near a mammoth migration, hummed near them. Alessandria placed a hand over her stomach.

“We’re a little more than a mile east of Rorikstead,” Sirina told her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get some food to eat soon.” She outstretched a hand up to her. “Would you like to pray with me for now? The sun’s still rising.” 

Alessandria pulled the cloak around her. “You don’t have to,” Sirina added, “you can just sit with me too if you could bear it.” Alessandria gazed at the ground in thought and peered up at the red-haired woman, then at Garmag behind her. The cloak remained shut. “I understand.” She gave the Imperial woman an encouraging smile and walked back to resume her prayer.

She joined her hands together and thanked Mara for her benevolent companions, for all amicable people she had met; Kynareth for their safe travel throughout the night; Arkay for the morning and all others before and all to come; Talos for their safe departure from Swindler’s Den; and lastly, Dibella for giving her a better life, for allowing the unending worship of her, and for flowers to bloom in her future.

As Sirina opened her eyes, she saw that she was not alone. Alessandria sat next to her. They smiled at one another not saying a word.

It had been over a year since Alessandria had left the city of Whiterun, so when she knelt and gazed over the beauty of the world before her, her shoulders slightly slumped and her grip on the cloak softened. A veil was pulled back from the mountain ranges all around them, succinctly revealing the ever-fresh snow that blanketed the peaks in their entirety. Far away to the east, the spires of Dragonsreach could be seen reaching to the heavens, and high above them all, on the precipice of the Throat of the World further east, the ancient monastery of High Hrothgar sat still.

She rested her head on Sirina’s shoulder.

Finally, the silence was broken. “It’s said the sun is actually a hole into Aetherius,” Alessandria quietly spoke, “and from it, magic seeps into Mundus and into Nirn and eventually to us. Magnus was dissatisfied with the world and left it, tearing a hole through the Immortal Plane.”

“That’s incredible,” Sirina replied, gently laying her head on Alessandria’s. “Did you read that somewhere?”

“An old book I read, _Varieties of Faith in the Empire_ , I believe.”

“It’s a shame he left, this Magnus,” Sirina said. “All this beauty right in front of us and he rejects it. Someday this world will be torn down and remade differently, and all this will be gone, likely beautiful in a different manner, but gone, nonetheless.”

“By the World Eater, right? Alduin, I think its name was.” she asked.

“God of Twilight, yes.” She chuckled slightly. “At least we can enjoy all this for now. Thank you for sitting with me, Alessa. This sight wouldn’t have been as magnificent without you.”

Alessandria smiled and took Sirina’s hand and said, “Sometimes you forget what the world is. What your place in it is.” She looked over at the naked Nord woman and stared at the simple amulet hanging from her neck, its jewel dim and its metal tarnished, and her smile slowly faded. “Sirina, if we’re going East, are you taking me to Markarth, or did you have other business on this side of the Hold?”

“I am heading back to Markarth, yes, though Rorikstead is my usual route back from Whiterun.” The road north-west through Rorikstead was the only one she ever considered when going back from Whiterun. “I’ll be on business while there.” Alessandria sat quiet.

“It’s not too late if you don’t want to come with me,” she told the Imperial. “I realized when you were sleeping that I didn’t really give you an option, I just… brought you along in the night. I know we briefly spoke about it in Whiterun, but after last night, I didn’t think to check how you felt about coming with me. I apologize, Alessa.”

Alessandria had been awash with emotions since they left Swindler’s Den. The truth was that she didn’t want to transition from one sex work into another, but she couldn’t just walk back to Whiterun on her own; she had nothing to go back to. Olfina, her closest friend, had left to carve her own path with her lover, and she held no property in the city to inhabit. She couldn’t even pay for a room even if she did make it back.

The thought of working again at The Bannered Mare, despite Ysolda likely taking ownership of it, made her heart quicken and her breath shorten. “I’m indebted to you and Garmag both and grateful for all that you two have done for me, but I can’t jump into becoming a Sister with you. I’m sorry.” She scolded herself for speaking so kindly. “I – I hope it doesn’t mean you’ll simply abandon me in Rorikstead, however,” she mumbled.

The unease was apparent on Alessandria’s face, so much so that Sirina felt a tinge of guilt for causing such a worry. She cupped the young girl’s face and looked her in the eyes closely. “Alessandria Arrulieus, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can be a Sister in other ways, not just by practicing the Dibellan Arts, you’ll see. I’d like it if you came with me all the same, even if you decide you don’t want to join our sisterhood. I made you a promise that I’d protect you, after all, and I aim to keep that promise.”

Alessandria had half a mind to scoff, but instead all she did was glare at the bright-haired Nord. “Can I ask you something, Sirina? What is it about me that makes you go to great lengths for? You could’ve left me at The Bannered Mare, you could’ve watched me head to Swindler’s Den on my own, yet you risked your life for me three times in the few days I’ve known you.”

Sirina looked away for a moment and took a deep breath before speaking. “There’s too much darkness in this world, Alessandria, especially nowadays with the war. From the moment I met you, I knew you to be good, too good for the abuse you faced at the inn.” She lightly chuckled and rubbed the back of her head. “I suppose you could say that I wanted to save you, give you something of a better life, or at least my view of one.” Alessandria’s mind drifted to the reflection she saw in the basin a few nights prior, of a girl she hardly recognized nor approved of.

“Is saving people something you tend to do?”

Fountains of blood, cold screams in the darkest of nights, and predatory sensations echoed in Sirina’s memories for a brief instant. “Not exactly,” she nervously chuckled. “Though I did save Garmag, as you’re aware, and have been known to save others from time to time -- you being the most recent. Some can be saved with a simple healing spell, while others need time and someone beside them. I try to help those that need me, at the least.”

Alessandria pondered the girl’s words. “But your main duty as a Sister, a priestess of Dibella, is based on sex, isn’t it? She is the goddess of fertility and affection, after all.”

Sirina sighed and spoke sharply. “Don’t fixate on the sex part, Alessa.” They sat silent for a moment, neither one looking at the other. After some time, Sirina continued in a softer tone. “Before we can even think about performing the Dibellan Arts, before giving our love onto another, we must find the love for ourselves, we must realize that we are much more valuable than we think we are, for we are more than just our bodies, and we are more than just a wandering sex meat.” She reached for Alessandria’s hand and wore a constrained smile. “My Sisters and I do good for the people of Skyrim, Alessa. Sometimes, yes, we perform sexual acts with others, but there’s more to the Sisterhood than just that. For one, we look out for each other so that none of us are ever alone.”

She planted a kiss on the girl’s cheek and got up, dusting off the dirt and grass on her knees. Before she walked too far, Alessandria called out to her. _What are you, Sirina?_ “What did you do before you became a Sister?”

As the question was carried by the wind, Sirina stopped still. Alessandria almost asked again, thinking she might not have heard, but Sirina then turned. “I worked the inns of Riften for far too long,” she said, before continuing her walk back to Garmag and Cinnamon.

The corner of Alessa’s lips cracked with the tiniest of smiles. Her hands balled into white fists at her sides, and her lips curled inward as she looked away from Sirina, a dark memory bubbling its way upwards. Fear forced her to run from Cyrodil. Desperation lead her to settle for Skyrim rather than continue into High Rock. Survival had her accept work as a Mare. Now she struggled to understand if the living she was being brought into was truly better as Sirina spoke.

“Hey.” Her attention was pulled. “I can hear your stomach calling for help from her. If we spend any more time out here, mine will start to answer soon enough!”

The Nord had changed into a short cotton dress of traditional Nordic colors, its sleeves embroidered with flowers native to Skyrim in blue thread. A leather corset was fastened around her waist, pushing her breasts up and her Dibellan amulet was nestled securely in her cleavage. Around her neck was a blood orange hooded scarf, the ends embroidered with a lily embellishment of golden twine. It was a similar outfit to when they first met.

“What do you think?” she asked, her hands outstretched. She slowly spun around.

“It looks cold,” Alessandria teased, holding the cloak tighter around her.

Sirina laughed. “It has to be to cool this fiery maiden down!” She laughed again as Alessandria rolled her eyes. “Would you like to steer Cinnamon into town today?”

A grin cracked through Alessandria’s stone face, small yet weakening her foundations. “Yeah, sure,” she simply said.

“Just don’t knock me off this time,” Sirina joked. “This dress has no cushioning.”

Garmag helped Alessandria onto the muscular brown horse. Now Alessandria chuckled as she gripped the reins, “Better grab on tight. I’m not liable for any bruised bums.” The Sister hopped onto the saddle behind her and wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist. “Let’s see,” Alessandria murmured, “hand on reins, give a squeeze –”

Cinnamon neighed loudly, rearing high in the air before jetting off across the fields. The two women immediately flew off the horse, unprepared for its sudden sprint, and together fell with Sirina softening their landing. Alessandria could’ve sworn she heard a cough from under Garmag’s burlap hood.

Cinnamon slowed to a stop a dozen yards further down the plains and proceeded to munch on grasses uninhibited.

“Okay,” Sirina breathed between laughter. “You’ve officially lost Cinnamon privileges. Possibly for life.” The two shared a laugh before Garmag scooped them up off the ground.

As they neared the farmstead of Rorikstead, grasses gave way to small fields of wheat glistening and gold. Several farmhands tended to the fields, their backs bent over as they neatly reaped heavy bushels with rusted sickles. A dozen thatched houses surrounded a tall manor of two floors and a small inn, smoke billowing from their pebblestone fireplaces. Chickens roamed the streets in flocks and penned cows mooed at passersby. Nord farmers looked up from tilling their soil and gathering potatoes and leeks and cabbage heads to wipe their sweat-beaded brows and to squint against the morning.

The Sister of Dibella was back.

Several men and women finished up their tasks and washed themselves of their labor as they saw the red-haired Sister enter town on her brown steed, the soft skirt of her swaying with the horse’s steps and the light of her eyes drawing the gaze of those she smiled at. A few children, too young to be of help on the farm yet, stood and stared slack-jawed at the towering, hooded entity that followed staunchly behind; he dwarfed many of their parents and the crunch of rock and earth underneath his iron-clad boots made them wince. His greatsword was of interest to some of the puffy-cheeked boys who spent their days swinging twig swords at each other.

A few of the settlers reached out their hands to the Sister, their faces and fingernails layered with sweat and dirt, and some bid her warm welcome from afar, secretly hoping for a reciprocating glance. Though the people seemed cheery, a dreary veil briefly wafted over Alessandria as they furthered into the small village. Her attention snapped to a sharp sound, like fresh lightning, to find a farmer guiding his cattle into their pen with a short whip.

The inn greeted them with enthusiasm, where a stablehand took Cinnamon to be fed and housed during their stay. He bowed to the Sister and offered to carry her things to their room. He was on the verge of giggling when she kissed his tomato cheeks in gratitude. The innkeep, a balding Nord with gruff voice, was quick to give them two rooms, surprising Alessandria for the inn itself only had five. The other rooms, the innkeep said, were as barren as the fields were a decade prior.

“In time,” he told them proudly when asked, “people will see what Rorikstead has to offer now and might choose to stay, if only for a bit longer.” 

The smaller room had a hay-layered double bed, draped with elk furs, pressed against the far corner of the room. Against the left wall was a set of dressers, two tall standing beside a stout vanity. A single wobbly chair sat in the right with an old wooden table. On top of it laid an empty flagon, overturned with a dried layer of ale within it. The light from the dim horn candle that hung off the wall fluttered. The doors to the dressers creaked as the stablehand opened them and stuffed their drawers with the travelers’ belongings.

Upon entering the second, larger room, Alessandria raised a brow. The middle of the room was occupied with a large double bed, with a small dining table sitting in the right corner. The two wooden chairs hung off opposite ends of the table. A long double dresser pressed against one wall with an oval-shaped mirror above it and sitting on top of its surface was a golden statue of Dibella.

The figure showed a voluptuous woman, encased in gold, holding a large lily over herself. The contours of her curvature were accentuated with the soft glow of the iron-wrought chandelier that hung above them. Long golden hair flowed off the statue’s shoulders and down its back, gradually molding into her long topless dress. What amused Alessandria was how lovingly shaped the breasts and buttocks were.

 _An image befitting the Goddess of Desire and Fertility_.

“Is this where, uh, it happens then?” she asked. Sirina had been tidying the room and adorned candles and flowers around the statue.

“What happens?” She had set her pack in one of the dresser’s drawers.

“Your Dibellan practices?”

“Oh, yes, it is.” She fell back on the bed and outstretched her arms to Alessandria. “And _this_ is where it all happens.” The way the mattress held her weight suggested it was stuffed with cotton rather than hay.

Alessandria stared blankly at the Nord and very deliberately, and very slowly, dragged the cushioned chair from the corner to the bedside, a smile forming on her lips the more the chair’s scrapes made Sirina flinch.

“You’re paying for that if it breaks,” Sirina said.

“I thought you Sisters didn’t ever have to pay anything. Simply flash those coins of yours and poof, new chair.” She sat and was surprised to feel that the seat also had a stuffed cushion.

Sirina playfully narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Good luck using them if I’m who carries them all.” She sat up to look at her, her hands under her chin. “Across Skyrim are shrines to Dibella, you see. This one here is one of them, placed by yours truly over a year ago. We scatter them as a means for people to continue to pray to Lady Dibella in case there isn’t a Sister or other Dibellan priestess around. A crucial duty of a Traveling Sister is to maintain Dibellan shrines.”

“And is that all we’re here for?”

Sirina averted her eyes. “No, but you can come along with me and learn what it is exactly that I do.” She looked at the girl with fluttering eyelashes. “Like I told you earlier, sex is only a small part of what we do.” Alessandria gazed at her wearily. “Besides,” she continued, “that’s reserved for the evening. You can stay out in the common room with Garmag if you’d like by then, listen to the bards sing, hear a good story or two, get a good meal. What say you?”

The Imperial lingered on the Nord’s proposition. She hadn’t found Sirina to have lied to her as of yet, and her words have stayed consistent, wise even at times.

“Do I have to get undressed in front of others?”

“Not at all.”

“Do I have to participate if I choose to observe you?”

“No, and you can step out at any time. You don’t even have to speak to anyone. Lady knows I sometimes don’t want to,” she laughed.

She considered what she heard. “Okay, I’ll join you,” she finally said. Sirina beamed and took Alessandria by the hands. She excitedly spat about doing the girl’s hair, showing her what good she does for people, and the impact she makes, which shifted to her audibly thinking about the dresses Alessandria gave to Olfina and how they would’ve made lovely gowns for the day, and contemplations of what color flowers would look best in Alessandria’s brown hair.

“We can always do that, Sirina,” she earnestly said.

Sirina admittedly agreed. “We’ll be staying for a few days, maybe less. I lingered here for a time before venturing to Whiterun, so it’s possible that there won’t be too much need of me this soon.” Alessandria nodded.

A knock came on the door. A barmaid announced that their food was served.

Their table was a solidly built group table against the wall of the common room, laden with the food that Alessandria had always smelled but seldom ate at The Bannered Mare. Together, the three ate baked salmon fillets, grilled pheasant breast, boiled eggs, and even a chicken dumpling. Ale trickled down Garmag’s chin as he carefully tilted a wooden tankard to the lips underneath his hood. Serana gently ate at her salmon fillets especially, and saw that Alessandria was hungrier than she thought.

She had to take sips of water between each bite, not because she was thirsty, but to lubricate and break down the food she scorfed into her mouth by the fist. A smile on Sirina’s face wrestled between growing and fading as she looked on at Alessandria, realizing how long it must have been since she ate an actual meal. A full day had passed since they’d eaten anything, and even then, Alessandria didn’t eat her fill. 

Only once her plate was clean did Alessandria realize how quickly she had finished. Even Garmag still had most of his food left. Despite this, she didn’t feel full, though a hint of embarrassment had befallen her. Sirina, however, smiled at her and gave her water out of her cup.

The inn, known as the Frostfruit Inn, had gradually began to fill with patrons from the farmstead. Farmers and homesteaders who normally ate at home or visited the inn in the evenings or weeks’ end had gathered by late morning that day for a glimpse at the Sister returned. It had been over three months since she had passed by on her journey eastward, and her presence was sorely missed.

Tables had filled, flagons of mead and ale were passed around, and the long central hearth had been kept stoked with logs and charcoal; hungry mouths were wetted as cuts of meat hung on spits and vegetables sat on metal grills; and pots of soup bubbled and boiled and were refilled as bowls were ordered. The inn’s busiest times were when a Sister had arrived to town, a disruptive event of its own where people chose to stand after all the seats had been occupied, where the inn could cook a month of food in a week, where the village’s crops became most vulnerable to neglect.

Even now, many farmhands chose to stop work early just to peer at the copper-headed woman.

Men and women approached their table, shirts damp or beards peppered with crumbs, and merrily spoke with Sirina about her travels, their harvests, and a few beamed about their children, newly born or soon-to-be. Before they’d leave, she planted a kiss on the cheeks of each of them.

“And so it starts,” she remarked to Alessandria. They left Garmag at the table and took up the room with the Dibellan statue.

A jug of water sat on the dresser next to the idol, from which they filled the wash basin by the bed. It felt all too familiar to Alessandria. She pulled the cushioned chair to the corner of the room from the bed and waited with Sirina, who laid across the stuffed mattress, a floral wreath around her head.

Someone knocked on the open doorway. A tall Nord, fare-haired, stepped in and smoothed back his tussled braids. He wrung the hat in his hands as he spoke with his growing muscles. “Greetings, Sister. It is my understanding that you practice…” He swallowed the knot in his throat after noticing the Imperial girl sitting, watching. “That you practice Dibellan teachings, and even bestow such lessons on others willing.” He squirmed as if to step forward but stood still instead.

The Sister peered at the boy and smirked. “Please, come inside,” she beckoned, patting the spot beside her on the bed. “Speak your mind freely, child.” The Nord winced at the name but crossed the threshold, his hands twisting tighter. He stood closer to her, but made no move to sit at Sirina’s side.

He stammered, his teeth suddenly too big and his tongue unexpectedly swollen. “I wish to lay with you,” he finally blurted out. “If you’d have me, of course,” he abruptly added.

Sirina slipped off the bed and slowly approached the shaking Nord, her bare feet sliding against the smoothed wood flooring. His gaze wavered between her eyes and her cleavage exposed by the low-cut dress she changed into.

A forceful thumping beat against his chest and the girl’s arms wrapped around his neck, and the distance between their lips grew shorter and shorter. She felt his shallow breath against her lips. He froze and relaxed as she kissed him, as if strings above him were suddenly severed and his pale cheeks warmed to a rosy pink shade. His hands found their place around her face as her tongue found its way into his mouth. A heavy breath escaped from his nose.

Alessandria could feel her heart beat within her chest and anxiously stared at the couple.

Sirina then pulled away, but kept her arms wrapped around the Nord, whose hands fumbled at the correct choice of action. She helped him, laying his hands at her waist.

She looked at him solemnly and she whispered, “That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

The Nord flinched before looking away.

“There’s no shame in it,” she told him, “but please, tell me the truth.”

He admitted, “It was.”

“What is your name?”

“Hemingr,” he said

“Hemingr, you’re a very handsome young man. Have you slain your first ice wraith yet?”

Hemingr’s eyes finally had a sense of hardening. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Took me a month to find one out near the Pale. Fearsome creatures, those frosted devils.”

Sirina smiled and touched his chest. “It’s clear you’re ready to take your place in Skyrim, Hemingr, but you should make that crossing with someone else, someone closer to your age, someone who’ll care for you as much as you care for them.” She planted a gentle kiss upon his cheek and began to part from him.

“There is someone,” he said, “but she’s experienced, strong-willed. I fear my own inexperience will make me a fool in her eyes when she realizes it.”

“You shouldn’t let fear take over your senses. See how you’re holding me? Hold her like this, closely. Kiss her passionately. Treat her gently and tenderly. Sex is a dance, Hemingr. If you follow her rhythm and focus on her, she’ll be most impressed with you – even if you misstep.”

“I don’t know, Sister, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Hold her as you’re holding me. Kiss her as we have. Treat her gently and with care. Wash your hands before touching her between the legs and focus on her enjoyment as much as she is on yours. Do that and you’ll have her coming back to you for more.”

A smirk formed in the corner of the Nord’s mouth. “How can you be so sure of this, Sister?”

The priestess cocked her head up at the Nord and raised an eyebrow. “Am I not a woman, Hemingr? I know these things because I experience them, I live them.”

Blushing and bumbling his words,­­ the Nord apologized. Sirina then put a finger under her lip. “There is another thing I can do for you,” she added. “Come.” He was lead in front of the shrine and told to strip to nothing and the door was closed.

“Don’t look at her,” she snapped. “It’s just us and Dibella here. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Hemingr, bare and exposed to the two women, kneeled in front of the golden idol timidly, his knees trembling as Sirina sat beside him in her nude form. His gaze stretched upwards towards the statue, and fought to keep away from the woman beside him. Apprehension strained his face as he felt a familiar sensation rushing through his groin, though he tried in vein to shift focus, lest the Sister notice.

Paying no attention to him, but taking his hand in hers, Sister Sirina began to openly pray. “Lady Dibella, Goddess of Beauty and Passion, we come before you in our most intimate, vulnerable forms. Though we are not lovers on this day, I humbly beg of you to watch over Hemingr of Rorikstead as he approaches his first shared experience with another. During the throes of passion does the mind cloud, and amid ecstasy is patience forgone, especially for those first to be blessed with your Lily above them. Steel his mind and his body; steer him to points of pleasure; shield him from release, until the final moment. In your name, in your honor.”

A silent moment passed where neither person in the room spoke. Alessandria sat uneasily, waiting for what she thought would happen next. Instead, the Sister rose and dressed herself and instructed the Nord to do the same. Her eyes avoided the man, Hemingr, entirely, and quickly glossed over Sirina.

 _Please let that be it,_ she thought.

“Go forth, Hemingr, with the Lady’s blessing. Trust in Dibella, and remember what advice I’ve shared with you. Though the day may not be today, nor tomorrow, whenever you do lie with your special woman, know that Dibella is with you both.”

The Nord smiled and lifted her hand gently up to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I thank you, Sister. Perhaps one day I can be blessed with your beautiful company as well.”

“Perhaps one day,” she repeated.

The Nord walked out the room, shivering over the vigilant eye from beneath the unmistakable Orc’s sack hood from across the room.

After shutting the wooden door behind the Nord, Sirina exhaled a quick breath and sped to Alessandria’s side. “What did you think?” she immediately asked.

“I – I don’t know,” Alessandria stammered. “It seemed fine overall, in the overall picture. I just – I don’t know, I felt rather uncomfortable at points. You seem so confident, so sure of what you’re doing with how easy you got naked beside this stranger.” The words reflected to her their irony as they escaped her lips, but she hoped Sirina wouldn’t take notice.

Sirina said nothing for a moment, letting Alessandria’s words, and her concern, settle between them before speaking. “I have every confidence in Dibella and the Nine to protect me. Along with them, my sweet Garmag stands ever alert just outside. If someone is foolish enough to think they can harm me, they won’t leave the room standing at the least.”

A knock rapped against the wooden door. Behind it, a woman and her husband stood hand-in-hand.

“Fine day to you, Sister,” the man said, a burly Nord exclaimed.

“Divines bless you, Sister,” said the wife. Her hand rested lightly over her stomach.

“We come in hopes that you may bless my wife’s womb, for we aim to have a child.”

Sirina looked at the man: long braided hair with a bald crown, the skin under his eyes sagged, his hands gaunt.

The woman appeared younger, her cheeks rather warm and plump and her complexion relatively smooth despite the wear visible on her hands.

She smiled at the couple warmly. “Of course, come in. Are you with child already, dear, or are you two trying still?” The couple walked into the room, bowing their heads to Alessandria, and muttering a quick “Blessed Lady” upon seeing the statue.

They sat on the bed next to each other and faced Sirina, who sat in front of them on the stuffed mattress.

“Well, we’re not too sure. The menses is a few weeks late, but I’ve no signs of pregnancy. Fjora says I should have bouts of morning sickness, tenderness in my bosom, and more sluggishness, but with this one here unable to keep his hands to himself, and with me feeling sluggish all the time anyways, it’s hard to tell.”

“Jolanta, let’s stick to the necessary information here,” cried the husband.

Sirina laughed once. “Not to worry, whatever confusion you two have will surely be gone in a few weeks after today.”

She excused herself for a moment and poured them cups of water before taking Alessandria by the hand and leading her outside. “This is going to be a bit more…intense,” she told the Imperial. “Just a heads up. If you feel you’d like to sit this one out, it’d be completely understandable.”

The consideration almost took Alessandria aback but it also made her more curious. “Thank you for the warning. What is it you’re actually going to do here with them?”

Sirina raised her eyebrow before continuing, clearly in jest. “I won’t be joining them this time, I’ll tell you, but they’re going to try for their baby in a few minutes. Maybe it’s best if you stay out here with Garmag this time, don’t you think?” 

Alessandria nodded and thanked her for the warning again. Before leaving, Sirina grabbed her arm, startling her. “One last thing, before you go,” she said. “You might be tempted to practice magic at some point here. Please don’t.”

The strained hush in her voice made Alessandria glare at her warily and the quick scan of the room she did told her that this worry was genuine, not itself a magical command. She seemed to take on a foul energy, reminiscent of the kind back in Cauis’ room. Alessandria assured her that she wouldn’t and Sirina relaxed, her gentle smile returning. The Sister walked back in after cupping Alessandria’s face, saying, “Thank you for waiting” to the couple. “Now before we begin, I’d like you both to wash your hands.”

Alessandria sighed and rubbed the back of her head as the wooden door creaked shut. The inn was still bustling with farmers, though some tables had begun to clear, yet there stood Garmag, clearly noticeable whether full or not. The iron greatsword he wielded stood on the ground in its scabbard, his hands balled around its plain pommel. The support beam he leaned against bowed under his weight and heft.

“Well, it looks like it’s just me and you, Garmag,” she finally, though uncomfortably, muttered next to him. Had he any reaction, there was no indication of one.

She tried to listen to stories some farmers told of frost trolls roaming the plains and abducting cattle. She tried to enjoy the songs the bards sung of old legends and tales of glory of notable figures around the province. She even ordered a bowl of venison stew to eat alongside some homesteaders, but she sat unfocused, picking at the chunks of meat floating in the soup.

Garmag watched as she stepped outside, the door to the inn creaking shut.

The air felt cooler in her lungs and made her realize that she was surprisingly sweaty.

She sauntered through the quiet farming town as wagons peacefully passed her by carrying an array of crops stuffed into canvas sacks. In the distance, a farmer could be heard milking a cow, its milk slapping the bottom of some metal bucket. She moved slowly and transparently down the main road, through the little farmstead, her arms crossed around her. Thoughts of home crawled up from dammed memories, her young brother’s face, the scent of flowers that her mother kept around the house.

The smallest traces of them tickled her nose.

Alessandria walked off the road and into the plains, stepping onto a small mound and looked southeast. Pale Pass was under heavy guard, a contested area between Stormcloak and Legion. For ordinary citizens of the Empire, you either had a special permit to immediately enter Skyrim or you waited up to three weeks in a queue.

Craftsmen, adventurers, would-be mages, scholars – your background didn’t matter once you were under the tents alongside the rest, once nightfall came. Men and women would fall asleep, dozens huddled around fire. After morning shone its light on the camps, there would be less people in line, for one reason or another.

Alessandria rubbed her middle finger at its base and remembered the kind soldier that didn’t ask for much more. She skipped the lines, the screenings, the interrogations, the prowlers among them all.

All to end up here, arguably worse than before.

She sat down on the tall grass, her knees to her chest, and quietly sobbed to herself.

Shortly after then, she smelled a gentle, sweet scent, and looking up, her eyes rested on a simple blue mountain flower held, clutched tenderly in the hands of a stout little girl, her blonde hair tied in short pigtails. The girl beamed at her with a toothy smile.

“Is this for me?”

The little girl nodded. “I was picking flowers in that meadow when I see you sit down. You looked pretty sad, so I brought you this flower so hopefully it won’t make you sad anymore, and you can be happy because you’re really pretty. Like this flower.”

Alessandria accepted the flower and brought it to her nose. She smiled at the girl and thanked her.

* * *

**~oXo~**

The wax candles flickered and danced high above their waxy pools, their emanated light blurred on the foggy oval mirror. Shallow breathing was stifled, quick chirps in the heavy air.

He held her thighs in his sun-spotted hands as he thrusted his hips back and forth in a steady rhythm. He groaned heavily in short bursts and occasionally reached up to cup the woman’s breast. Her legs were bent over his muscular arms and she held his waist. Their foreheads were beaded with sweat.

A slick popping was sounding along with his thrusts, and he could feel the walls of her cunt tightening around his hard cock.

“Gods most Divine,” he’d gruff. He picked up his pace after lifting her ankles over his shoulders. His hands moved to grab her waist and he pumped himself faster and harder into her, he breasts shaking as his weight collided against her ass and thighs. He could feel himself peaking, and his urge to fuck her harder weighed on him with each thrust. The Dibellan amulet around her neck slid off her chest and laid beside her neck.

She could feel it happening. His cock pulsed and she could feel his thumbs bury themselves in her waist. Though it stung, she craved more. _Please don’t come yet, please._

She reached up and traced her hand around his stiff breasts and pulled him by his amulet closer to her. Their tongues danced and twisted around each other as he folded her nearly in half, her legs deftly flexible. His grunts became shallower and his thrusts into her became harder and more intense as the muscles around his thighs and ass tightened. The bed creaked underneath their movements, almost shifting back and forth with their weight.

“Stop,” the Sister suddenly said, startling the man. He slowed down to a stop, breathing loudly through his nose. “It seems you both are enjoying yourselves, but even I can tell you were about to finish, Bersvar.” The Nord stayed silent. “The goal is not to finish, but to enjoy the sensational ecstasy you create together. Jolanda, speak truthfully, would you have been satisfied if your husband finished in you and began to redress?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be unheard of,” she darted back, her eyes on Bersvar.

“Jolunda,” he cried. He slicked the sweat off the back of his neck

“Don’t simply fuck your wife like a cheap whore in a barn, enjoy her, explore her, make her feel … more!”

“How is this supposed to help us conceive a child? I come in her and she gets pregnant, that’s how it works,” he growled.

Jolunda scoffed at her husband. “Don’t be rude, Bersvar!”

“She isn’t just a sleeve for your cock, she’s your wife, she wants to carry your child,” Sirina explained. She used a metaphor that seemed popular among farmers. “By engaging in the passionate expression of love, of ultimate attraction, not only do you enrich your seed, but you fertilize her womb. You can’t just… till her soil and expect anything to come of it, you must plant good seeds and care for it to harvest.” Though the line was a bit out of practice, it seemed to get her desired result.

The man nodded his head slowly and looked at his wife on her back before him. “What do I do then?”

Sirina smiled. “First, remember to place this pillow under her seat when it comes time. It helps with conception. Second, take your time, feel her, kiss her, enjoy your time in intimacy with her.” As Jolanda took her husband’s cock in her hand, Sirina took his hand and moved it slowly up his wife’s leg, guiding him where she’d enjoy his touch.

Within a few minutes, she was moaning a little louder than she was before.

**~oXo~**

* * *

After the first night, many from surrounding homesteads, smaller villages, camps, and even some soldiers on leave from Fort Sungard to the South came to Rorikstead to meet the Sister of Dibella.

Sirina would pray in front of the golden statue in the mornings upon waking up and again before going to sleep, sometimes with Alessandria, other times not. She’d pray with couples and individuals before performing a service with them and again after they were done. Alessandria would sit for some of the tamer sessions: simple prayers of fertility; blessings for passion in the future; relationship advice; one hunter notably came to gift her a fur cloak for helping him rid of a wart near his groin the last time they met.

When the afternoon sun fell, Sirina would begin to be involved more directly in the arts of Dibella. Men and women alike approached her and many received Marks of Dibella as a result.

“Sister, I fear I may have forgot how to make love on account of it being so long since my last time.”

“Sister, help me become closer to Dibella.”

“Sister, my love rejected me. Is there a way you can help me feel attractive?”

The reasons why individuals and couples alike requested her aid were numerous, though many based on simple desire. She obliged to most and rejected only those whose lust seeped out of them like water.

“Sister, I once believed my cock could never stiffen,” one notable example cooed, a Breton who either drank too much that night or was too smug for his own good, “yet when I looked upon you, I was cured! Let us check and see if it works properly!” When she rejected his offer, he grabbed her hand and pulled it over his pants, then snickered with a sinister grin. “Come on, aren’t you supposed to bless us all? Please, Sister, I’m asking politely.”

He screamed as her hand suddenly closed around his groin, a tight fist that twisted and squeezed. He stiffened and jumped and cried out aloud, prompting the patrons to silently watch. Alessandria, who sat with Garmag, nearly dropped her book from the startle. “Ask for forgiveness instead,” she spat. His arm desperately swung out, striking her across the cheek and causing her to fall back from the unexpected blow. Alessandria shouted.

Before the man could realize that Sirina had let go, he was suddenly yanked and dragged by his arm and leg. The door to the inn was thrown open as the Breton was swung through it like a battering ram, and Garmag, with a grand heave, flung him from the inn’s porch. The man flew several feet through the air before thudding to the floor square on his back. When Garmag entered, the silence permeated through the room quicker than rumors.

He crouched beside Alessandria who studied the bruise on Sirina’s face. When Sirina claimed she was okay, the room cheered, and Garmag helped her up before taking his spot across the room once again.

The Breton wreathed on the floor outside for several hours into the night.

It was rare that something like that happened, Sirina would explain to Alessandria, scant enough to not consider it a worry. Alessandria, however, wondered if it would have been more common had Garmag not followed her everywhere.

The Imperial would sit out in the common room with Orc most of the time, or would wander the town or listen to the stories that adventurers told of heroic journeys, of the exotic lands visited by merchants, or songs of legend sung by bards from Solitude. At times she’d wander outside of town and practiced her healing spell, delighting herself when she’d be able to sustain the comforting glow for longer.

She’d leave the inn after a certain point, once the muffled sounds of bed creaks and moans became too familiar to bear.

When it would be time to sleep, Sirina would cozy up next to Alessandria on the hay bed in the smaller room they had. She thought the larger room more sacred, unsuitable for simple rest after rituals. When asked where Garmag was going to sleep, Sirina answered vaguely, but Alessa wouldn’t bother to press her further. On the third night, Alessandria slept alone, her eyes glued to the door through most of the night.

It was an accident to fall asleep, yet she only slept a few hours.

She found Sirina snoring softly in the room next door, apparently having been too tired to cover her naked body with a blanket. Alessa looked at her for a few moments, the first time she had actually seen her so vulnerable. The smell of the room, the grey of the wash basin, the naked exhaustion, it was almost like she never left the Mare.

She opened up one of the tall dressers and pulled out a cotton blanket, dyed a deep red with natural colored ends, and draped it over Sirina.

* * *

**~oXo~**

The hunter had visited Sirina in one instance, once the sun had set. They prayed together before the golden idol. She couldn’t help but peak at his toned body. Once they were done, he lifted her and placed her on the cotton-stuffed bed and ran his hands up and down the inside of her thighs. He kissed them, trailing up her leg and kissing her in her groin, drawing gasps from her. She pulled him up to her and they kissed and ran their hands through each other’s hair.

Sirina turned around and faced his hardened cock, already dripping. He gasped when she took hold of it and moaned once she took it into her mouth. She could taste his come already and could tell it would be thick. Her tongue wrapped around its head and he began to slowly move his hips back and forth, causing her to gag at times. Her hand cupped his balls and gave them a light squeeze and he shivered, causing her to giggle in her throat.

Sirina gasped as the man’s wet fingertips began to massage her labias and slowly trace her lips. Her hips began to grind into the man’s fingers. Then, he bent over her and placed gentle kisses on her groin again, going up and down their space before venturing further in. She could feel the grin he had as she moaned into his cock as he kissed closer and closer to her slickened opening.

She pulled his cock out and corrected herself so that she was now sitting up in front of him, and kissed him, giving him a taste of himself. He cupped her face and ran his fingers along the scar on her face and kissed her neck and embraced her tightly as he did so. She took his hand off her face and onto her breasts, which he took and almost laughed when he found that his hands were too small to cup them in their entirety. Much of them didn’t fit into his mouth when he took her nipples into it, and she arched her back as she was pulled deeper into his mouth, breast-first.

Her hand stroked his throbbing cock, its warmth building as she tugged on it. She took special care to gently rub his head, drawing squirms and moans from the man that made her giggle.

She faced the statue after he turned her over and placed her on her knees. He kneeled behind her on the bed and held her tightly against him, his hands running up and down her abdomen as he kissed her from the top of her shoulder and down her back. Sirina trembled and laughed and reached back to feel him.

Her breasts went into his hands and he rubbed his fingers on either side of her clitoris, teasing her. She could feel her plump ass against his cock, which he gave a slight slap. He bent her over and gripped his cock, but Sirina stopped him. Instead, she laid he down on the bed and climbed up on him, her legs on either side of his head. He grabbed her ass as he kissed and licked her.

She took a large gulp of air and sighed into the ceiling, her hands gliding over her hardened nipples and the back of her neck and into her scalp. A swelling feel of warmth built up between her legs and she could feel her heart quicken. The hunter reached up and grabbed her breasts and squeezed her waist as his lips lapped around her clitoral hood. Sirina began to grind on his face, pushing herself down over his nose.

She grinded on his face, moaning and grunting as the waves of pleasure moved over her. The troubles of her week were long forgotten, having vanished as easily as the man’s face had.

At his request, she got back on her knees and bent over, and his tongue went over her outer labias, sliding up and around her anus. He could hear her moan, and his cock twitched with excitement. His fingers rubbed her wet lips slowly as his tongue circled her rim, and his other hand squeezed and slapped her ass hard enough for it to shake against his cheek.

She reached between her legs for his cock, which gladly gave her, and guided it slowly into her. They both moaned as he slipped easily inside, his warmth spreading out within her. He grabbed hold of her hips but she took herself off him and lied down, bringing him to her. He laughed as he laid beside her and kissed her. They held each other, moving their hands over their crotches and their thighs and their faces and hair and back.

After what seemed like hours packed into a few minutes, she climbed on top of him, his cock trembling with anticipation and her cunt. She hummed as she filled herself with his cock, feeling the full length of his shaft slide into her.

”By Dibella,” she breathed.

“I believe I’m the lucky one here,” the hunter piped.

Sirina began to sit up and down on the man’s waist, her legs squeezing around him as she picked up her pace and her breathing began to thin. Her red hair bounced freely, having come undone hours before him. She could already feel his cock begin to pulse inside her, and the hunter took hold of her hips and “helped” her bounce on his cock, his breathing raspy. Soon, her breasts were swinging as well, and her ass jiggled with each landing she took.

His breathing stopped for short moments as his eyes lingered on her chest. He’d occasionally reach up and squeeze one, but mostly admired their movement. Sirina arched her back as her pace quickened, and one of her hands slid down to her clit. Seeing this, the hunter volunteered his hand and licked his thumb to a glisten, using it to gently rub the Sister’s hood in gently swirls. She laughed warmly before grunting, her hands finding themselves clutching her breasts tightly.

The hunter’s cock suddenly slipped out of her and they both cried out.

“Are you okay?” they both asked each other, and they both affirmed the other. They laughed together and Sirina climbed off, nuzzling up to the hunter, kissing his collarbone and his lips and reaching over to kiss his cock, white at its base with her own thick liquid.

His erection looked like it would have been painful from how stiff it was, but he assured her that he was fine. “A little hungry,” he said with a grin. Sirina hummed in response and licked her lip as the hunter moved down her body, planting kisses from her cheek, to her neck, to her breasts, down her stomach, and lastly, a quick peck over her clitoris.

She spread her legs wide and felt her breath escape her chest.

**~oXo~**

* * *

On their fourth day, Sirina declared they were leaving the following morning. Though Alessandria wasn’t distraught in the least, the announcement made her uneasy for what was to come. Markarth, the home of the largest Dibellan temple in Skyrim. Meeting the rest of Sirina’s sex cult. Whatever fate that was to come afterwards.

Though the inn was still crowded by that point, some tables were checkered with empty seats. The air within was cooler than days before. After they ate, Alessandria ventured outside and was greeted warmly by those who passed her by. None asked her name, and she knew none of theirs, but familiar faces were all around her nonetheless. Baskets filled with bushels of wheat and crates full of vegetables ventured off into outside markets, and a few travelers on horseback rode by on their thickly muscled steeds. Her hands were buried in her pockets as she walked, having been given a few second-hand outfits from some families on Sirina’s behalf. Most fit her well, once she adjusted their length.

Her eyes searched for the blonde little girl she met a few days prior as she walked down the main road, fruitlessly. Instead, she spied a farmer speaking with a thin and toned young man. As they spoke, the farmer looked around and finding her within his sights, pointed her out to the man. The breath in Alessandria’s throat was suddenly caught, and her heart paced thunderously in her chest. She tensed up as the man began to walk towards her.

_Did Father find me? Do I run? Is there any point anymore?_

“Excuse me,” he called, wiping his forehead caked with sweat. “Excuse me, miss. I was told by some of the locals here that you are friends with a Sister of Dibella who is staying here, the one with the red hair I was told.” His breathing was shallow, though controlled and he talked between drinks from his waterskin.

Alessandria relaxed, finally exhaling. “Yes,” she said simply.

The messenger sighed and reached into his pack. “Thank goodness,” he exclaimed. “I’m a messenger here to deliver, well, a message for her. You see, a shadowy man in a dark robe told me to make sure she gets this, said I’d the bottom of Lake Illinata if I didn’t. Thing is, though, I hear she travels with a fearsome Orc, so ugly and ferocious that she has a sack restrain him from us, like a muzzle for a dog. As much as that man scares me, Orcs guarding beautiful dames sound even more frightening.”

Alessandria scowled at the messenger, but he paid her expression no mind. He handed her the folded note when she asked, “Where were you given this assignment?” She opened the letter, almost mindlessly, and titled her head slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed and twitched as she gazed over its contents.

“Old Hroldan, to the Soutwest. Thought I would’ve missed her. Thanks for taking it the rest of the way for me. I tell you, the things that Orcs do to a mere man, let alone a woman, are unspeakable if you provoke them, and they provoke easy. My uncle once –” Alessandria now cut him off.

“Go,” she said curtly. “Leave then. Now.” The messenger looked at her incredulously. “You were paid up front,” she said, a venom now in her voice, “now go.”

“How rude,” he shouted. “I’m an official messenger of Whiterun Hold, one of many under Jarl Balgruuf himself, and will not tolerate being spoken to like this.”

“Leave, or I’ll personally fetch that great, savage Orc to escort you out. I should warn you, however, the last person he threw out of town is only here still on account of his wounds, and that was just the other day. A few days prior, he split a man in half with his greatsword. A single swing. Never seen anything like it.”

The messenger flubbed over his words when responding and looked around nervously. Finally, he settled on a single line that he stuttered to recite, “Well, I got to go. Important deliveries to make, after all.” He took off in a jog in the direction he came.

Alessa glared at him until he was out of sight. She then looked at the note once again and felt an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

The note had a single image; no words accompanied it, not even a name for its recipient anywhere on the paper. She had once read that its creators were all but considered extinct by this point, having disappeared shortly after the Oblivion Crisis at the tail end of the third era, yet her she was holding such an image in her hands.

The Black Hand.

Likely made within the past day, the paint still weighed heavily on the cheap paper. She couldn’t fold the paper quicker, but she stuffed it in her pocket once she did, eyeing anyone who might have been watching as she marched back to the inn.

 _If they know she’s here,_ _there’s no point in worrying about going straight to her. If they want her dead, they’ll have to go through us first._

Worries about Markarth, of the Sisterhood, of who Sirina suddenly didn’t matter. She would not stand idly by this time.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading!


	6. One Danger for Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirina learns she is hunted by the Dark Brotherhood, a shadowy group of assassins, and flees Rorikstead with the help of her friends.

As the bitter mead slithered down her throat, Sirina scowled and coughed. Had it been chilled, she would be gulping it down like a fish; as it were, its tepidness was retching. Garmag, sitting across the small dining table from her, smirked from the corner of his mouth, compressing the deeply rooted scars that lived on his cheek. He brought his wooden tankard up to his lips and gulped down nearly half of the mead within it in a single gulp. The sordid concoction dribbled from one of his tusks.

The leftover portion of her drink called to her with a rotten aroma and she promptly pushed the tankard away from her. The faintest whiff of it made her scowl. Garmag finished it for her with a satisfied grin. “Sometimes I feel like you only come with me for all the free alcohol.” She chuckled as she reached over to wipe his mouth with a thin rag.

She continued her previous thought. “Even still, I wish I could do more to help her, even go back to that awful day and arrive sooner. We were maybe a minute, two minutes too slow.” She slumped over in her seat like a doll stuffed with grain. The longer they had stayed in Rorikstead, the more it gnawed at her. “It’s not easy to keep looking forward after that,” she muttered to her companion. She thought on about her time in Raven Rock among the desolate Dunmer, her brief stints in ancient Farrun and Jehanna to the West. A life lived so long ago, only so many moments stood out to her, for better and for worse.

She looked up at the Orc and rested her gaze between his violet and milky white eyes. The old prophecy echoed in her mind. “I’m incredibly lucky to have you with me,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. Calloused and dry, the ball of her delicate fist fit neatly within his palm. It had been some time since she first held his hand, once slicked with blood and held together with a cat’s talon. Revisiting that day made her teeth curl, and the thickened scars on his neck were almost enough to make her shiver. “If that inn had someone like you, strong and noble, someone who gave a damn about all of those people there, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

A low grating sound hummed within Garmag’s throat as he gently squeezed her hand. She flashed a light smile at the Orc.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “Dibella helped me come to terms with my own experiences, with how I coped, but I can’t expect all this to do the same for her. I can’t force that path on her.” She sighed and stared down at her pewter tankard, a few drops trailing the perimeter of its bottom as she swayed the cup in circles. Her hand began to glow with a harmonious aura and she gazed at her twirling fingers. “I can put some spells on her to ease her pain,” she said in a distant voice as the light dimmed away, “but the wound will continue to be there long after I stop..” Outside their room, muffled voices layered atop each other as the dried thatch above them continued to darken from the never-waning hearth fires. A rhythmic _thwack_ soon overtook their loud whispers. The only noise between Garmag and Sirina, for a while, came from creaks in the wooden chairs they sat upon as they shifted their weight, or from the sips of mead that they shared together.

Finally, Sirina spoke once more. “Maybe Mother Evarice could provide more help. There isn’t a woman alive who weaves wise words as reasonably as she.” As the thought aged in the air, she straightened her back in her seat, her eyes glinting with hope. “And think about what other skills she may have. A tavern girl doesn’t get much time to develop any skills or proficiencies, but she showed some promise with a healing spell. Maybe there is more she can delve into in that regard. Maybe she has other talents within her, powerful and dormant, don’t you think? She’s young, brave, a little foolhardy – I’m sure she can find a role at the Temple that’ll suit her best!”

Garmag nodded his head and hummed once more, a deep guttural growl all he could muster for a response.

A voice then called out for the Sister, and they heard the fragile door of the room next to them slam open, its hinges crying as they turned. The innkeeper yelled out to take care with the doors as Alessandria soon sprung into their room, her mouth slightly agape, her umber hair frayed. She swiftly shut the door behind her and began to pace in front of the two as she twisted her finger in her hair, looking at the floor with concern. Garmag pulled the canvas sack he had on the table over his head before Alessa could notice. “Okay, I don’t want to startle you,” she started. “It could be nothing after all, maybe a harmless prank someone pulled, or maybe for someone else but—". Her pacing stopped as she looked at the two, but her open mouth remained empty.

“Out with it, before even Julianos himself gets impatient,” she chuckled.

Her fingers trembling, Alessandria reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded note. The smile on Sirina’s face dwindled. Her mind went blank except for one hope. “A messenger found me outside. He told me to give you this,” she said through hasty breathes.

“Alessa,” Sirina called cautiously. She rose from her seat slowly and with great caution, as a child would to keep from waking their sleeping parents, and as the paper was unfolded, her eyes began to widen and tremble with an unwavering stare. A thudding shake intensified in her chest as the candlelight shone through the thin parchment, illustrating the shape she hoped was a trick of the light. She called again to the girl staring at the note held in her hands, “Alessa, it’s okay. Just… just show me what’s on that page.” But she knew already what image was pressed onto that page. She long expected such a note to be given to her, to find it mysteriously placed in her bag, tucked carefully into her clothing, or slipped under her pillow.

The outer edges of the paper crumpled in Alessandria’s hands as she bit her lip. In the deep recesses of her mind, she imagined turning the note over would make Sirina would spring up and down cackling, ball the bloody paper up and toss it into the hearth.

Now, she wished only to do it herself, to rip up the message and wipe it from existence, to blind herself of the horrors and fears that existed out in the world she gazed lovingly on just a few days prior.

Instead, she closed her eyes and turned the page over.

Sirina sucked in air.

“Fuck.”

Sirina’s knees suddenly wobbled. Had Garmag not had his elbows on the table, Sirina surely would’ve tipped it over. The plumply cushioned chair caught her and groaned as she landed and scraped back into the wall.

“Sirina, this is a joke, right?” Alessandria’s eyes darted between Garmag and Sirina, the former sitting still as the idol behind her, and the latter akin to the overflowing candles above. She asked again and received no answer. “The Brotherhood was supposedly dismantled decades ago!”

The priestess’s emerald-green eyes then snapped at her, their gaze unsteadily focused and piercing. She sat up again and put a hand to her chest and fought to keep the bubbling memories from surfacing under the dredge. Whispering, her words as shaky as her fingers, she spoke, “Alessa, please tell me all the messenger told you. Tell me where he came from, what he looked like, what he said, I beg of you. Tell me everything.”

In stammered words, Alessandria retold the events that had transpired, the messenger’s description of her, and detailed what she was told of the shadowy figure who wrote the note.

The Nord’s face was cradled in her hands for a while after, her fingers thrumming against her forehead. It was as she had feared, what she knew would come, what she hid from for so long. Suddenly, Sirina threw her fist down on the table with an explosive yell, startling Alessandria.

“It’s true then,” Alessandria thinly uttered. “The Dark Brotherhood not only still lives, but have targeted you.”

Sirina couldn’t – or rather didn’t – answer before the door to the room flew open.

It was the innkeeper, and he quickly scanned the room for trouble, holding up a tenderizer large enough to be mistaken for a sort of mace. His dull grimace was hidden underneath his dense beard, itself peppered with blood. “What’s going on in here?” He looked at Alessandria, and especially downwards at the still-sitting Garmag, with a single open eye. Alessa immediately pressed the note against her chest and upon seeing nothing too amiss, he opened his other eye and continued. “I heard a scream and what sounded like a tussle.”

Behind him, eyes peered in from the common room, some with hungry blades at the waist.

“Yes!” Alessa quickly stated. “I was just reciting to Sister Sirina a play – a ballad I’ve been writing. Set in the Oblivion Crisis during the Third Age, you see, where a warrior – a knight! – fought against a towering Daedric creature called a Daedroth, and in my excitement telling it, I must – “ The innkeep raised his hand to her.

“Save it for the Bard’s College,” he interjected sternly. He sighed and lowered his weapon of convenience, the watchful eyes behind him slinking off behind the walls of their room. “You gave me quite a scare. Please, if you must recite such tales, try not to incite _them_ by doing so.” He slowly closed the door, bidding farewell to the “Sister,” and stopping to wish the same to Garmag, but the hood over his head caused the man to pause and stumble before relenting and merely shutting the door.

Once the footsteps faded, Sirina took hold of her tankard and gulped down painful swigs before Garmag took the cup away without protest.

“Sirina, what do we do?” Alessa looked at the disheveled woman in front of her, her eyes in another world, her leg bouncing on its toes underneath the table, and wiped her brow of sweat.

“We have to leave,” Sirina piped. “Sooner than later.”

Alessa nodded. “Where do we go, then?” she asked.

Sirina pondered the question, flicking her thumb in a dry coin toss. Old Hroldan sat to the west of Rorikstead, but the road from there traveled South before turning Northwards to join back up with the main road. Were he coming from that route, the party would be forced North. Continuing their route meant they’d have to cross the Karth River to the Northwest. It was possible, she then thought, that their pursuer was actually already headed that way – an ambush, likely at the bridge crossing. Moving East, she recalled, would end at the River Hjaal and would require them to then find a safe ford to cross. She nodded to herself and stood up. “Time to pack,” she announced. There was only one other way.

“But where are we going?” Alessandria asked once more. _Are we really just running in one direction and hoping for the best?_

Sirina stepped close to the Imperial and with a hushed tone, said, “On the way to Markarth, stopping through Karthwasten for all anyone knows.” She brushed her face and stood.

“If anyone asks, that’s what we tell them until we pass the fork to the North.” She walked over to the idol of Dibella and traced her finger along the intricate carvings in its make and gripped it, lifting the statue with both hand.

Alessa protested, “So you’re not going to tell me where in Oblivion we’re heading to?”

“It’s better to keep it quiet,” Sirina said in turn. “One slip-up and what little advantage we have to move is gone.”

“I deserve to know.”

“And you will.” Sirina stood in front of the Imperial woman and met her gaze. Alessa could see her teetering. “Do you trust me?” she asked. The question was easy to answer, but asked outright, she suddenly found it less so. She nodded her head all the same. “I’ll meet you at the stables. Garmag, help her pack, please.” Before walking out the door, she grabbed her red scarf from out of the tall dresser by the door and wrapped it around her head.

The drawers dragged on their wooden railings as Alessa pulled them open. She sifted through blouses, trousers, tunics, dresses -- all sour with use -- and piled them on the floor next to her. Though she had intended to wash them before their departure in the morning, she instead hastily stuffed them into a pack. The canvas bag bulged and swelled and soon could fit no more of the dozen articles of clothing strewn about.

A hand fell on her shoulder, blanketing almost the entirety of her joint with a roughly textured surface, and she saw that it was Garmag knelt beside her. Self-grinding sandpaper seeped from behind his mask as he responded. As she paused to look at him, he took the long-sleeved tunic she held in her hands and began to fold it on the hay-stuffed bed beside them, and he gripped the balled-up wad of fabric and pulled it free from its trappings. The clothing was carefully placed within bags clasped shut.

When finished, he placed a hand over his chest and he took three deep breaths, slow and methodical. She mimicked him, closing her eyes and listening to her chest rise and fall. When her eyes opened, he still sat next to her, his face shrouded in canvas, and he nodded at her.

The words slowly trickled out of her mouth like the start of a rain shower. “You don’t have to hide your face around me anymore. No point in it if I’m going to be around still, especially if she trusts you.” He nodded once at her. Her hand reached out to slip the cover away, but she soon pulled back, deciding not to.

As she closed the final heavy dresser drawer, Alessa turned to the empty room, the third she had packed up in over a year. Her head hung off her shoulders as she closed the door to another room she emptied. She wondered what the next one would look like. Alessandria clutched the sheathed dagger that Sirina had given her evenings prior. _Neck, eyes, chest, balls. Be brave. Be brave._ She attached the dagger to her belt. Garmag held their bedrolls and camping supplies in his arms and off his shoulders, seemingly unburdened by their combined size and weight.

The innkeeper raised his eyes from the venison chops he mulled over. A few had begun to ooze a thick slime. “Leaving already?” he cried, throwing the meat back into a barrel. “I thought you were staying another night!”

Garmag continued outside as Alessa stopped to talk to the man. “We do apologize for the short notice, but Sister Sirina is awaited in Markarth.”

“No, no,” he yelled. “You must stay! The village will prosper even more with her here!”

“We really must be going now,” she emphasized. “The Mother has summoned the Sisters at once. Surely you would leave at once if the Jarl summoned you.”

The innkeep threw his hands up. “If the Jarl summoned _me_ , he’d be doing himself a disfavor. You must stay,” he repeated. “How will we continue to grow our crops, our food!”

Alessandria tensed her jaw and began to ball her fists as the exchange went on.

Then a voice from behind her called out. “Mralki, that’s enough. Leave the poor lass well alone.” Alessa turned to look at the speaking man. From his thin frame and angular facial structure, she reckoned he was a Breton. His delicate cotton coat jacket was clean and well-fitted, and his face, though wrought with age, was clear in complexion. A pleasant smell accompanied him as he stepped closer.

“Never mind him, miss,” he croaked. “He’s just saddened to see this old place empty once more. Sister Sirina is one of the few Sisters to pass by this old town and even she is seldomly with us. Old Mralki here would be cleaning up after ghosts and spiders if it wasn’t for her.” He placed his hands over his stomach as he laughed.

“To Oblivion with the both of you,” Mralki the innkeep cursed. With a huff, he gathered several cleaned dishes and empty wine bottles and carried them down a flight of stairs behind the bar, off into the basement below the inn.

The well-dressed Breton turned to Alessandria and flashed a weathered smile. She stayed silent, hoping that he would, for one reason or another, simply go away afterwards. But he didn’t. “Jouane Manette,” he said, bowing at his waist. 

Alessandria’s brow creased, but she promptly curtsied in response. “Ah, a lady with manners – _someone_ with manners in this frozen country,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve been to High Rock?”

“I haven’t, though we’d get our fair share of visitors from across the five kingdoms in the Imperial City.”

The man rubbed his whiskered chin, then his eyes glinted. “How have you and the fare Sister enjoyed your visit?” He began to walk to the door of the inn and looked at her as she stood still. “No need to worry. I understand the Sister has to leave, though I’d appreciate it if you walked an old man home. Just down the ways here,” he pointed.

Alessandria looked around, and with no one paying attention to them, and the innkeep still down in the basement, she cautiously accepted. She brushed her arm against the dagger at her hip to feel that it was still there.

“It’s a fine steading,” she said afterwards. They walked outside, and the cold air rushed in, chilling the tepid sweat she didn’t know that had built up under her clothes.

He seemed unimpressed with the answer. “It’s truly a fine village,” he said, almost as if she wasn’t there. “It makes me proud that our humble village, small in size, is large in bounty. Despite being a tenth of Whiterun’s size, without us, the capital would starve.”

They passed by the furry cattle and chicken pens and sheep that sat awaiting the inevitable they were consigned to at birth. The small farm buildings with their darkened wood and splintering walls rested with their foundations deep in the frozen soil.

“We hear plenty of the soils and land of this part of Whiterun Hold in the city, especially of Rorikstead. Supposedly each season brings a perfect harvest.” 

“The seasons truly are miraculous here,” he started. “We couldn’t do it without Sister Sirina. Her visits have been a true blessing for the steading, you see.” Alessa nodded to him, keeping in time with his slow stride. “Despite her… shortcomings.” She almost stopped walking when the last line was freed. “That is why I ask you forgive poor Mralki. Rorikstead gets many, many visitors from other villages, and even folks from Whiterun if she stays long enough. The amount of people that come bring money to the inn, traders for livestock and crops, craftsmen to repair our homes and tools, and it ensures our land stays fertile. We get more settlers who decide to stay after coming to see her, you see. The lonely farmers out in the country decide to settle here soon after seeing her, bringing their families.”

“More families means more farmers here to grow the town, but also means more land use. The soil can be used only so many times at once, though.” Rorikstead was supposedly a very old farmstead. She wondered perhaps it didn’t matter how many moved in if they were responsible with their fields.

“In other places, you’d be correct,” Manette said. “Our town thrives on newcomers, however. Here we are,” he said as they stopped in front of the large two-story manor. Pieces of its walls were paler than others and were fitted with stained glass windows. A few depicted different breeds of dogs walking along the plains. Alessa followed the steps up the porch and saw the carefully molded door with its intricate carvings and silver-finished fastenings. On the door hung an iron door knocker in the shape of a horned great daemon.

“I’d imagine the townsfolk to be timid of such imagery on the entrance to their lord,” Alessa mused.

Manette chuckled softly. “Oh no, I’m not the lord here. That’s Rorik, though admittedly I come out more often than he does. No, that’s more to ward off any would-be thieves and snoops.” He chuckled a little harder and said, “The Nords are an easily-scared people, for all their talk of bravery and battle.” Alessa smiled and nodded along. “Which leads me to why I asked you to escort me, Alessandria. It is Alessandria, correct? I’ve seen you out in the outskirts of the town casting spells.” Alessa’s breath caught in her throat at the curt statement. She wondered if there was time to reach for her dagger.

He smiled, his skin creasing along the sides of his face. “No need to worry. You see, I’m a mage too,” he whispered. “Used to be a healer in the Great War. Magic is incredibly powerful and really quite fascinating to study, to tame and control. These days, you don’t find many in Skyrim that take to studying it, and with good reason.”

“The Nords,” Alessa said plainly, remembering Sirina’s words when they approached the town. She wondered if anyone else had seen her besides the Breton and the little Nord girl.

“The Crisis hit the province hard, arguably more so than the rest of Tamriel. It still lingers on in the peoples’ minds. You must be careful, Alessa.”

“Because of the Nords?”

“Because of the Nords. Ulfric Stormcloak wages his crusade for Talos against the Dominion, and magic alongside them. It doesn’t help that most of Winterhold collapsed save for the mages’ College. It’s a dangerous time to be a mage in Skyrim, Alessa.” Jouanne Manette looked at her gravely, his eyes suddenly sunken into his head. “Which is why you must never settle in Rorikstead. You’ve already stayed too long. It’s good you and Sirina are leaving.”

Alessa exhaled out her nose. “Do you really think the Nords here would harm me for practicing magic?”

“Oh, not the Nords specifically,” he replied solemnly, “and not because you cast a spell. When I first met her, I thought it best to warn her as well. She seemed kind and showed great potential in magic, but as I got to know her, I realized that she was, in fact, in no danger at all. Instead, she provided a service to this town.”

Now Alessa furled her brows and huffed. “You mean sex.”

“Yes,” he said plainly, “or rather, it’s more accurate to say that she promotes it. It’s good for this town. We get many visitors who come seeking her help, to receive a blessing from Lady Dibella. Some even decide to settle into our land and contribute to our prosperity. You, my dear, don’t want to be such a woman.” Old Juanne clasped his hands behind his back and walked up the steps of the manor.

“Why do you figure that is?” Alessandria asked defiantly. She planned on leaving with Sirina regardless, but for the old man to dictate what she shouldn’t do made her grit her teeth.

“Look around you,” he called back. “How many women your age do you see living here?”

Her fists relaxed as she began to realize that he was right. Most of the women that saw Sirina were from other towns and villages, and Alessa dwelled on what it could mean as Jouanne Manette shut the heavy door behind him.

The sun sat higher in the sky and as Alessandria passed resting farmers and craftsmen, sitting under their porches sipping water or mead, she felt their weary eyes linger on her. She wondered where the little blonde girl she briefly met could be in the town, hoping the stranger was safe somewhere. The ripe smell of stables drifted in the air, and as she gradually neared them, she could see Sirina strapping their bags to the sides of a tan horse.

It stood with its head bowed, its glassy eyes staring down at its pawing hooves. Alessandria stroked the horse’s milk-white mane. “What’s its name?” she asked, though Sirina shrugged.

“It seemed unimportant to ask.”

Alessa winced at her response. “Did you trade a farmer for the horse?” Sirina didn’t answer, and Alessa decided to leave it at that.

She analyzed Cinnamon, the vibrancy of her coat, the way the muscles in her haunches flexed and shifted as Garmag synched up their rolled-up camping tents to her.

She doubted that the horse Sirina acquired would be able to carry Garmag, not when he rode a healthier horse of his own before, a breed accustomed to wearing armor themselves. Not only did the Hrim carry him but also half their camp as well. Sirina confirmed what she had thought: Garmag would ride Cinnamon for himself and she would share the new one with Sirina.

Once they had finished packing, giving much of the lighter saddlebags to the fragile horse, they embarked out of the homestead, Sirina taking the lead. They passed the inner layer of creaking huts and lodges, their thatched roofs grey and brittle, their wooden beams scarred from ice and wind, and left behind the outer ring of farms and livestock, the cows and goats and dogs crying out to them. Nord farmers and Breton stockmen waved at them, and some wished them well while others thanked the Sister for her blessings.

Alessa scanned dozens of faces in hopes of seeing the little blonde-haired girl one last time and watched the farmstead shrink behind her having not. On their way out, they had passed a couple arriving from a stroll, their sun-beaten faces shriveled to keep the light out their eyes. The woman, her belly full with child, called out to them, wishing them safe travels as her partner waved the Sister off with his cap.

As Sirina had said, the land began to sway and dip and rise, gradually, but noticeably. Their horse meandered between heavy breathing and silence as it surmounted inclines and rested on downhill descents. From atop of the hill they sat, the trio could see the River Hjaal that ran through Hjaalmarch from the West, its shining waters like sapphires against the sky.

Soon, they made it to the fork in the road; one diverging Westwards, the other North. The letters burned into the dried wood had smoothed over and their color smudged over as the signpost stood lopsided in the frosted soil. Once, it could have been said that someone crafted the post with loving care and a sense of purposeful duty. Its shaft was free of splinters despite the generations of winters and springs, and its guiding arrows remained affixed to their base with the strength of iron.

Now, it simply leaned to one side – another brittle, barren tree among many in the windswept plains. Without stopping to read it, as most travelers did, Sirina continued northwards, descending into the valley that cradled the salt marshes of Morthal.

A deserted cart on the side of the road sat painted with a layer of blood long dry, its owner and companions long consumed by the mountains along with the soldiers and the farmers and mages and elves of long ago. Sirina carried her bow, nocked with a rusted arrow at the ready, for the remainder of their trek. Alessandria, however, only sung a song to herself she had just remembered, quietly in her head, of Old Rorik’s Steading, the basket of Whiterun.

Dusk. They made camp among the billowing grasses and under the slumbering moons. They pitched no tents and made no fire, layering themselves in clothing and furs instead to keep warm. If they became hungry, they ate pine nuts or jazbay grapes or carrot slices, taking care to not drop any into the grass. The echoes of wolf packs howling with blood-soaked throats stretched far across the plains and the trumpets of sleeping mammoths reverberated within the blue sea of soil and rock. Alessa slept with her dagger in-hand through the bitter night.

Predawn. They packed what little they had set up and continued their trek with foggy minds. The giants huddled close together, their house-sized bonfires visible like torchbugs in the distance among the tundra and the mountains and their smoke could be seen floating from within the forests and valleys. Alessa wondered if they could view her party as she looked out at their flickering match sticks and feel pity for their primeval cousins.

For two days and two nights, little had been said among the party.

On the third day they arrived at another fork that diverged in separate directions, one bowing West and one turning East. “Dragon Bridge,” it said in bold, burnt letters on one guide. “Morthal,” it was written another, perhaps with a blade.

Alessa thought they’d turn towards the Bridge, towards town, but Sirina pressed East and Garmag followed. “The Penitus Oculatus there can help us,” she pleaded. “They’re possibly the blast blades in the Legion, serving the Emperor himself!”

“They wouldn’t be able to save the Emperor if he was targeted,” Sirina replied, keeping her eyes forward on the road. “We’re rabbits running from a sabrecat. That Orsimer over there might as well be a fox, able to bite if given the chance, but dead with us both should it catch up. We keep moving.”

“Are you going to tell me where now that we’re all alone out here?”

“Morthal.”

“Why there?”

Sirina stayed silent. Alessa silently sighed behind her.

Another day, another night, they journeyed around the Skyborn range that blistered the land with wrought and toothed stone that reached desperately up to the Divines, to match its primeval brethren in the East. As the day went on, they ventured through a thin forest fed from the Drajkmyr marsh waters and the trees turned and twisted around their branches, and the color of their leaves were hued with a sickly grey pox that littered the ground in living ash.

Alessa began wearing her fur coat as they traveled further behind the Skyborn mountain range and as they neared Fort Snowhawk that lied buried in snow. A scarce number of Imperial soldiers stationed behind the walls’ parapets and above the fort’s portcullis could be seen huddled tightly around their braziers, donned in fur-lined armors and cloaks and the Imperial banner billowed above them all, its dragon emblem lazily gliding along the wind.

At last, early on the fourth day, the trio trotted into the open city of Morthal amid stares and whispers, amid the blanketing mist retreating into the marshlands and the citizens hoping beyond sense that the marsh water would follow. The air between the gnarled tree trunks stuck to the womens’ clothing and crawled up their nostrils and the soil underneath their horses’ hooves akin to slop made for slick stepping.

They were pointed to the nearest inn, a ramshackle longhouse with a sign that hung on its post for dear life.

“Have you ever come to Morthal?” Alessandria asked Sirina as they dismounted.

Sirina sighed and brushed her face and hair. “Not to the city. I don’t hear good things either.”

The door to the inn creaked open and the women suddenly felt the miles they traveled wash over them and the desperate gnaws of their stomachs and within the inn three heads perked up at their unexpected arrival.

“Welcome to the Moorside Inn!” exclaimed a woman at the far end. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurriedly over to them. She pushed the dangling strands of her curly hair back out of her face. “How many rooms are you looking for? Need some food too, or did you just need a quick, hot meal?”

“Just food, please,” Alessandria said, then Sirina spoke too.

“Actually, two rooms as well.” Sirina rummaged in her bag for several of her coins, but when presenting them for payment, the Redguard innkeep shook her head.

“We can’t stay here long,” Alessa whispered in Sirina’s ear.

“We’re all weary, but I still have some running to do. You and Garmag should rest.”

“Sorry,” the innkeep interrupted, “as much as I’d like to take these coins from you, I got a business to run. Don’t get too many customers out here, as it could be seen.”

Alessa exhaled through her nose and looked at Sirina with a smirk, half incredulous, half fatigued. “Seems they’re not taken everywhere, eh?”

Sirina looked back and crinkled her nose at the girl. Turning back to the innkeep, who named herself Jonna, she asked, “Is there any other form of payment you’d accept? We haven’t much on us, but I can do some work around the inn if it affords my friends a meal, at the least.”

The Redguard thought a moment, her eyes moving between the three of them. “I suppose if you chop me some pieces of wood for the fire, you can get yourselves a bowl of soup.”

“Do you need help preparing food?” Alessa asked. “I’ve worked in an inn’s kitchen before. Maybe that can be enough to get a few scraps of meat?” With the state of the inn and its present attendance, Alessa believed it’d be little trouble for little work.

“Sure. I think I’ve got some pork that’s going to turn soon anyways. Just bring me, say, ten pieces of wood.” She went and gave Sirina an axe she had leaning in the corner behind the bar. Its head was spotted and its shaft was broken at the bottom.

Garmag moved to grab the axe, but Sirina refused to give it up. “Rest,” she implored. “Look after her for me, okay?” She dropped her bag off with Alessa and went outside to gather the wood.

“You don’t want to go help her?” Alessa asked the giant. She looked at Garmag then at Jonna who looked back at her with doe’s eyes. “I think I’ll be okay,” she added, but his only reply was to sit at the nearest wooden bench. As he sat down, the bench groaned and bowed under him. Alessa sighed and joined Jonna in plucking a chicken.

Sirina brought the ax down hard on the upright log for a second time. It split with the shriek of lightning cleanly down its middle. With each swing, the axe grew heavier, her swings sloppy. The people passing by with their musty faces and grimy hair looked at her the same way she looked at them, and they gave each other the space they expected.

Far on the other side of town, where the rivers Karth and Hjaal met to feed into the Sea of Ghosts, a fisherman blew his horn signaling his party’s return from the frozen sea, their nosetips and cheeks and fingers bitten by the icy ghosts that waft over the waters.

When the log was split, a dark-haired Nord approached Sirina, his clothes plain yet free of the muck that plagued the rest of the citizenry. She gripped the axe tightly and called out to him through staggered breathing. Her eyes locked on to his every move through her dangling bangs clumped with sweat.

“Sirina of Ash,” he called, nearly stopping her heart.

She raised the axe in both her hands. “Did they send you after me then? I didn’t expect you to have been waiting for me here, least of all confront me out in the open like this.”

The Nord put his hands at his waist, above her his longsword hung by his belt. Its scabbard was of dark wood and wrapped in leather. “This seems like a preemptive overreaction,” he said with a chuckle. “’They’ in my case is the Jarl’s court. Put that silly axe down before your arms give out.”

The axe swung downwards as she let go of it and dropped it with a faint thud against the damp soil and grass. “I should probably return it before I go,” she said.

“Nonsense, the Jarl is an impatient woman. I should know, I married her after all.” He chuckled once more but stopped when Sirina didn’t join in the revelry. “Let’s get going then,” he said, waving her over to him from the other side of the short twig fence. “Jarl Idgrod isn’t one to wait on others. I’ll send someone to return the axe and wood to Jonna.”

Sirina began to walk around the fencing to him, peering behind her as she did so. The hilt of the dagger underneath her tunic brushed against her bare skin, giving her a strange comfort. “I’ll follow you. Get walking,” she directed.

The Nord scoffed and shook his head. “How silly of me to forget that even roses have thorns.”

He led her deeper into the city, traversing walkways that lead over swamp waters and bubbling pools, and stepping over slop that puddled in the street. Nirnroot dotting the town gleamed and chimed their soft hymns as an alchemist knelt to pluck it from the ground and they passed the contorted, bare trees creaking in the wind. Houses and shops alike stood within the muck of the town, their platform struts straining to keep steps and porches from dipping under the soft earth.

They reached the Jarl’s longhouse soon enough, a large structure with banners of Morthal’s triskelion depicted to the city. Guards stood at either side of the entrance wielding greataxes, their armor wrapped in a garb of the city’s color – an almost wine-tinted purple.

Two long tables sat at either side of an extended hearth within, their surfaces bare. Their wood was cracking and littered with deep scratches, welts, and crude carvings, but remained otherwise solidly constructed. The fires blazed low but vibrant.

At the end of the longhouse sat an old woman wearing a cloak trimmed with brown fur and a pale leather jerkin and finely woven trousers who looked down the hearth at the two entrants with cloudy eyes. Half a dozen guards stood along the walls wielding short swords, their gazes locked firmly in front of them with uncontested fervor.

“Good, good,” she croaked. “You’ve finally arrived.” She rose, bracing herself against her throne on a shaking arm. A young woman standing beside her, their faces similar if not for time, moved to help her, but the old woman held up a wrinkled hand to stop her. She thanked the man, apparently her husband, who left into an adjacent room with the young woman, for bringing Sirina to her and waved the guards to step into a few of the many doors that lined the two walls of the longhouse. “I am Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch Hold and its capital of Morthal. I’ve been expecting you for a few days now, child.”

Sirina seemed unconcerned. “Why is that, my Jarl?” she simply asked.

“I have no concrete reason, only what the Divines tell me. Oh, what they whisper in my old ears. The dead walk again, bandits create tolls, assassins chase after a priestess and her friends.” She looked at Sirina with a grave expression that gradually melted to a coy laugh.

Sirina gave her a damp smile in return. The Sisterhood’s Sybil in Markarth could convene with Dibella herself, and though she heard of other conduits of the Divines, individuals who could converse directly with the Nine, she also met many false augers through the years.

“No need to fear, child,” the old woman continued, walking towards the hearth and warming her hands. “The assassin pursues you no longer. Either you lost him in your travels, or he gave up the pursuit, or he perished in the wilds, or – the point is, your party is safe now.”

Sirina did her best to keep from scoffing. The only reason the Brotherhood would toss a contract was if payment became an issue, if the contractor couldn’t pay for one reason or another. Finding that person was impossible, meaning she was being hunted still, and they’d find her given enough time.

“How can you be so sure, my Jarl? I received a Black Hand. Surely you must know I’m cursed to die by their blade.”

“I’ve the Divines telling me, Sirina of Ash.” Sirina jerked at the name being said aloud again. “Still don’t believe me? Do you think I simply bought this information? Think again,” the old Nord chuckled, the golden chain hanging from her neck clittering along with her. “Akatosh himself told me what happened to your village. Wiped off the map it was.” The old woman almost leered at Sirina’s reaction, the gradual transitions between confusion into comprehension into anger. The Jarl jabbed at a nerve like a child poking a dog.

“Don’t be so overdramatic, Sirina. You and your secrets are safe,” she said walking back to sit on her ornate throne, “but I do have a favor to ask of you. Of you and your friends. I won’t lie to you, by doing this for me, you’ll be trading one danger for another.”

Sirina lightly shook her head and as she pushed her frustration down into her, the old hag’s prophecy returned to the forefront of her mind. If the Jarl truly talked to the Divines, to higher and all-seeing beings, perhaps she could get more information on the omen given to her, another set of weights to carry across Skyrim. Her shoulders slumped and she exhaled through her nose as she thought of Alessandria and Garmag waiting for her at the Moorside, perhaps sitting and waiting with empty bowls and tankards so that they could all eat and sleep together after their fretful journey.

“I need a favor in return,” she said. “If you speak truthfully, perhaps we can both help each other.”

“Of course,” said the Jarl, the flames of the hearth flickering in the spinning cauldrons of her eyes.


End file.
